UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER 

His  Life,  Genius,  and  Writings 


BY 

W.  SLOANE  KENNEDY 

Author   of  a.   "Life    of    Henry  Wadsworth    Longfellow,"   Etc. 


REVISED  AND  ENLARGED 


INTRODUCTION  BY  REV.  S.  F.  SMITH,  D.D. 
Author  of  Hymn  "America" 


Such  music  as  thr  woods  and  streams 
Sang  in  his  ear,  he  sang  aloud 

The  Tent  on  the  Beach 

For  all  his  quiet  life  flowed  on, 

As  meadow  streamlets  flow. 
Where  fresher  green  reveals  alo 

The  noiseless  ways  they  go 

The  Friend's  Burial 


AKRON,  OHIO 
THE  SAALFIELD  PUBLISHING  COMPANY/^ 

NEW  YORK  1903  CHICAGO 


COPYRIGHT   1892 

BY  D.  LOTHROP  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT   1895 

BY  THE  WERNER  COMPANY 


John  Greenleaf  Whittle* 


INTRODUCTION. 


WHO  does  not  admire  and  love  John  Greenleaf  Whit- 
tier  ?    And  who  does  not  delight  to  do  him  honor  ?     He 
was  a  man  raised  up  by  Providence  to  meet  an  exigency 
in  human  history,  and  an  exigency  in  the  experiences 
of  the  United  States.     And  he  met  the  exigency  with 
distinguished  success.     He  was  a  true  exponent  of  New 
ig  England  life  and  the  New  England  spirit.     He  drew  his 
H  inspiration  from  the  soil  where  he  was  born,  from  the 
3  necessities  of  the  times,  from  the  demands  of  human 
g  rights,  from  the  love  of  God  and  of  man.     He  was  a 
S  unique  man.     We  knew  not  his  like  before  him.     We 
*  shall  see  «no  other  like  him  after  -him.      He  was  the 
product  of   his   age ;    and  the  age   in  which  he  lived 
belonged  to  him,  and  he  to  and  In  it.     He  was  a  unique 
literary  man.     He  was  so  meek  and  retiring ;  he  was 
so  keenly  sensitive  to  the  wrongs  done  by  man  to  man  ; 
he  was  so  devoid  of  self-seeking  ;  so  pure  and  exalted 
in  motive,  and   so  sturdy  a  defender  of  the  rights  of 
the  oppressed  ;  he  was  so  full  of  trust  in  God  that  we 
seem  never  to  have  seen  his  equal  among  men.     His 
beautiful  gentleness  of  character  and  his  inflexible  and 
fearless  advocacy  of  the  cause  of  righteousness  —  even 
when  such  advocacy  involved  persecution  and  personal 


344015 


6  INTRODUCTION. 

harm  and  loss,  a  rare  combination  of  qualities  —  remind 
us  of  the  sentiment  of  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes, 

"  The  gentle  are  the  strong." 

If  ever  in  modern  days  the  character  of  the  apostle 
John  has  been  reproduced  among  men  it  was  in  John 
G.  Whittier.  See  with  what  sweetness  and  meekness 
the  shy  and  loving  Quaker  moved  through  the  ranks 
of  society  in  times  of  peace  and  prosperity,  and  with 
what  an  adamantine  boldness  and  bravery  he  stood 
up  before  the  mob  in  Philadelphia  when  his  types  and 
manuscripts  were  scattered,  his  printing  office  burned 
and  himself  threatened  with  personal  violence  by  the 
foes  of  human  equality  and  freedom.  Did  he  quail 
before  the  storm  ?  Not  he.  Did  he  abandon  his  prin- 
ciples and  retire  from  the  arena  ?  Oh,  no  ;  no  more 
than  did  the  apostle  John  —  the  apostle  of  love  — 
forsake  his  Christian  faith  when  the  persecutors  im- 
mersed him  in  boiling  oil  and  exiled  him  to  a  desert 
island  in  the  yEgean  Sea. 

The  poetry  of  Mr.  Whittier  is  a  complete  autobiog- 
raphy. It  is  a  reflection,  as  in  a  polished  mirror,  of 
himself.  We  miss  only  the  accidents  of  dates  and 
places,  which  are  of  merely  external  importance ;  but 
we  find  in  his  works,  amply  displayed,  the  portraiture 
of  the  man ;  even  as  the  architect  records  himself  and 
his  thoughts  in  his  plans,  and  builds  his  own  soul  into 
his  edifices.  Read  the  poetry  of  Mr.  Whittier,  and 
you  have  no  need  to  ask  what  kind  of  man  produced 
it.  Behold  the  portrait :  a  thorough  New  England  man, 
a  son  of  its  soil  and  a  legitimate  product  of  its  institu- 
tions ;  a  fruit  of  the  simple  education  which  was  open 
to  the  people  in  the  times  of  his  youth  and  manhood  ; 


INTRODUCTION:  7 

a  philanthropist,  loving  all  righteousness  and  all  men, 
and  scorning  all  oppression,  injustice  and  iniquity;  a 
stern  advocate  of  human  freedom,  prepared  to  fight  for 
it  even  "  to  the  bitter  end ;  "  a  bachelor,  but  having 
always  a  sweet  and  tender  side  for  women ;  petted  by 
society,  but  never  tempted  to  swerve  from  the  straight 
line  of  his  principles  ;  holding  the  faith  of  his  fathers 
as  a  birthright  and  the  result  of  his  honest  convictions, 
but  with  sympathies  as  broad  as  the  universe  and  an 
appreciation  of  the  privilege  of  private  judgment  on 
religious  matters  as  the  right  and  duty  of  all  men  ; 
animated  by  a  patriotism  which  took  in  his  whole  coun- 
try, but  a  yearning  for  his  own  New  England,  its 
people,  its  scenery,  its  institutions  and  its  honor  ; 
warmly  attached  to  the  friends  whom  he  met  along  the 
pilgrimage  of  this  life,  but  preserving  to  the  last  the 
memory  and  the  love  of  the  survivors  whom  he  knew 
in  his  school  days  in  the  Haverhill  Academy  ;  living 
very  much  apart  from  his  fellowmen,  as  he  did  in  his 
latter  days,  on  account  of  the  increasing  infirmities  of 
his  age,  and  absorbed  in  the  world  of  his  own  thoughts, 
yet  ever  most  affable,  and  as  accessible  as  a  most 
warm-hearted  and  cordial  associate  ;  every  inch  a  man, 
as  in  stature,  so  also  in  soul,  but  exhibiting  also  the 
simplicity  and  the  loving  and  confiding  spirit  of  a  child 
("  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven  ") ;  conscious 
of  his  human  weakness  and  dependence  on  a  higher 
Power,  as  he  approached  the  goal  of  life,  but  relying 
on  that  higher  Power  with  a  sublime  courage  and  a 
firm  faith.  How  the  man  stands  forth,  like  an  orator 
on  the  stage,  in  the  presence  of  throngs  of  admiring 
and  reverent  spectators  !  Unconsciously  he  sets  forth 
in  his  works,  whether  they  be  prose  or  poetry,  an 


8  INTRODUCTION. 

example  of  the  beauty  of  righteousness,  the  charm 
of  philanthropy,  the  power  and  attractiveness  of  the 
broadest  charity,  the  fervor  of  patriotism  and  the  con- 
trolling force  of  love.  The  century  which  is  about 
to  close  has  been  honored  and  made  better,  as  well  as 
gladder,  by  his  presence  in  it.  He  has  enriched  its  lit- 
erature. He  has  elevated  its  ethics.  He  has  breathed 
a  divine  life  into  its  inspirations.  He  has  warmed  its 
heart. 

Mr.  Whittier,  like  another  Wordsworth,  glorifies  the 
scenes  of  common  life,  and  hallows  the  landscapes  of 
his  New  England  homes.  His  verses  speak  in  the 
dialect  of  the  people,  and  deal  with  themes  with  which 
they  are  familiar.  He  lifts  toil  above  its  drudgery, 
and  sanctifies,  as  with  a  sacred  glow,  the  things  with 
which  men  in  common  spheres  chiefly  have  to  do.  He 
admired  nature  as  he  saw  in  it  the  landscapes  which 
surrounded  his  several  homes,  the  rolling  green  hills 
of  Haverhill  and  Bradford,  the  mighty  trees  of  Oak 
Knoll,  the  flowing  stream  and  graceful  curves  of  the 
Merrimack;  the  sober  and  quiet  graces  of  Amesbury  ; 
and  with  his  pen  he  stamped  upon  them  immortality. 

The  sun  has  set,  but  no  night  follows.  The  singer 
is  gone,  but  his  songs  remain,  and  will  long  be  a  power 
among  men  far  beyond  the  places  adorned  and  honored 
by  his  personal  presence.  We  love  his  poems  which 
on  account  of  their  helpfulness  the  grateful  world  will 
long  continue  to  read.  How  little  he  wrote  —  did  he 
ever  write  anything — "which,  dying,  he  could  wish 
to  blot?  "  and  his  life  was  a  poem.  The  seal  of  Death 
is  on  his  virtues,  and  the  seal  of  universal  approval  is 
on  his  works, 

§.  F.  SMITH. 


CONTENTS. 


Part  L  —  LIFE. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  ANCESTRY  .  9 

The  Poet's  Titles.  Heredity.  Spelling  of  the  Name 
Whittier.  Whittier  Ancestors.  Greenleaf  Ancestors.  The 
Husseys  and  Batchelders.  Portrait  of  Whittier's  Mother. 

II.   THE  MERRIMACK  VALLEY        .        .        .        .24 

Description  of  Essex  County,  Haverhill,  Amesbury, 
Newburyport,  Salisbury  Beach,  and  the  Isles  of  Shoals. 
Extracts  from  the  "  Supernaturalism  of  New  England." 
The  Spirit  of  the  Age. 

III.  BOYHOOD    .        .        .        .       ...        .        .36 

Birthplace.  Kenoza  Lake.  Whitman  and  Whittier. 
The  Old  Homestead.  Members  of  the  Household.  .Harriet 
Livermore  and  Lady  Hester  Stanhope.  The  Poet's  School 
Days.  "  My  Playmate."  Ellwood  and  Burns.  Old  Strag- 
glers. "  Pilgrim's  Progress."  The  Demon  Fiddler. 
First  Poem.  William  Lloyd  Garrison  and  the  Free  Press. 
Haverhill  Academy.  Robert  Dinsmore,  the  Quaint  Farmer- 
Poet  of  Windham. 

IV.  EDITOR  AND  AUTHOR  :    FIRST  VENTURES      .      83 

Whittier  as  Editor  of  the  Boston  Manufacturer,  the 
Essex  Gazette,  and  the  New  England  Review.  First 
Volume,  "  Legends  of  New  England."  The  Poet,  J.  G.C. 
Brainard.  Ballad  of  "The  Black  Fox."  Whittiei'a 
Views  on  the  Poetical  Resources  of  the  New  World. 
"Moll  Pitcher." 


10  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

V.   WHITTIER  THE  REFORMER        ....      97 

Identifies  Himself  with  the  Anti-Slavery  Movement.  ^ 
Publication  of  his  Brochure,  "Justice  and  Expediency." 
Social  Martyrdom.  Prudence  Crandall  and  her  Battle  with 
the  Philistinism  of  Canterbury,  Conn.  Tailor  Woolma» 
and  Saddler  Lundy.  Account  of  the  Philadelphia  Conven- 
tion for  the  Formation  of  the  American  Anti-Slavery 
Society.  Whittier's  Account  of  the  Convention.  William 
Lloyd  Garrison  draws  up  the  Famous  Declaration  of 
Principles.  Samuel  J.  May  Mobbed  at  East  Haverhi'l. 
Whittier  and  George  Thompson  Mobbed  at  Concord, 
X.  H.  Story  of  the  Landlord  and  the  Flight  by  Night.  The 
Poet's  Account  of  the  Mobbing  of  William  Lloyd  Garrison. 
Letters  of  John  Quincy  Adams.  Harriet  Martineau  on 
Slavery.  Attitude  of  Whittier  toward  the  Quakers  on  the 
Slavery  Question. 

VI.  AMESBURY 123 

Removal  to  Amesbury.  Description  of  the  Town  and 
of  the  Poet's  Residence.  The  Study.  Whittier  Corre- 
sponding Editor  of  the  National  Era.  Various  Works 
Written,  including  "Stranger  in  Lowell,"  "  Supernatural- 
ism  of  New  England,"  "  Songs  of  Labor,"  "Child-Life," 
"Child-Life  in  Prose,"  "Introduction"  to  Woolman's 
Journal,  and  "Songs  of  Three  Centuries"  (Edited). 
Whittier  College  Established. 

VII.   LATER  DAYS 141 

Danvers.  Oak  Knoll.  Summerings  of  the  Poet  at  the 
Isles  of  Shoals  and  the  Bearcamp  House.  "Die  Literary 
World  Tribute,  and  the  Whittier  Banquet  at  the  Hotel 
Brunswick.  The  Whittier  Club.  Various  Volumes  of 
Poetry  Published. 

VIII.   PERSONAL 153 

Whittier's  Personal  Appearance  Described  by  Frederika 
Bremer,  Geo.  W.  Bungay,  David  A.  Wasson,  and  others. 
Incident  of  his  Kind-heartedness  to  a  Stranger.  Dom 
Pedro  II.  and  Whittier  at  Mrs.  John  T.  Sargent's  Recep- 
tion.  Letter  to  Mrs.  Sargent.  Humor.  Love  of  Children. 
Offices  of  Dignity  and  Honor. 


CONTENTS.  1 1 

Part  HE. 
ANALYSIS  OF  His  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.   THE  MAN 169  I"!** 

The  Moral  in  Whittier  Predominates  over  the  Esthetic. 
Love  of  Freedom  the  Central  Element  of  his  Character. 
Freedom,  Democracy,  and  Quakerism,  links  in  one  Chain. 
Quakerism  Described;  Freedom  and  the  Inner  Light, 
Quakerism  is  Pure  Democracy  or  Christianity,  and  Pure 
Individualism,  or  Philosophical  Idealism;  it  Resembles 
Transcendentalism ;  the  Details  of  the  Quaker  Religion 
Considered;  Quotations  from  William  Penn,  Mary  Brook, 
and  A.  M.  Powell;  Objections  to  Quakerism;  Beautiful 
Lives  of  the  Quakers;  Whittier's  Attitude  Toward  the 
Religion  of  his  Fathers.  His  Religious  Development, 
Doubt,  and  Trust.  Patriotism.  Has  Blood  Militant  in  his 
Veins.  A  Representative  American  Poet.  Summing  Up. 

II.   THE  ARTIST 196 

Little  or  no  Technique.  More  Fancy  than  Imagination. 
The  Artistic  Quality  of  his  Mind  a  Fusion  of  that  of  Words- 
worth  and  Byron.  His  Bookish  Lore.  The  Beauty  and  Mel- 
ody of  his  Finest  Ballads.  His  Strength  and  Nervous 
Energy.  Culmination  of  his  Genius.  His  Three  Crazes. 
Letters  to  the  Nation,  and  tn  the  American  Anti-Slavery. 
Society.  Illustrations  of  the  Predominance  of  the  Moral  in 
his  Nature.  Taine  Quoted.  Pope-Night.  His  Over-religi- 
ousness. Love  of  Consecutive  Rhymes.  Minor  Manner- 
isms. Originality. 

Ill,   POEMS  SERIATIM       .       .    '    .'.      .        '.       .    217    ' 

Mr.  David  A.  Wasson's  Classifica'  ion.  of  Epochs  in  the 
Poet's  Development.  The  Author's  Classification.  Four 
Periods:  ist,  Introductory;  2d,  Storm  and  Stress ;  jd, 
Transition  ;  4th,  Religious  and  Artistic  Repose.  General 
Review  of  Earlier  Productions.  The  Indian  Poems. 
"  Songs  of  Labor."  The  Ballad  Decade.  "  Prophecy  of 
Samuel  Sewall."  John  Chadwick  on  "  Skipper  Ireson's 
Ride."  The  "Barbara  Frietchie"  Controversy.  The 
Romance  of  the  "  Countess."  Winter  in  Poetry.  "  Snow- 
Bound."  •'•  The  Tent  on  the  Beach."  Various  Poems. 


1 2  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  FAGS 

IV.  THE  KING'S  MISSIVE 254 

Joseph  Besse  Quoted.  Story  of  the  Quaker  and  the 
King  of  England.  The  Debate  of  Whittier  and  Dr.  Geo.  E. 
Ellis  of  Boston.  Humorous  Specimen  of  Quaker  Rant 
from  Mather's  Magnolia.  Terrible  Sufferings  of  the 
Quakers. 

V.  POEMS  BY  GROUPS 272 

The  Anti-Slavery  Poems  Reviewed.  Poems  Inspired 
by  the  Civil  War.  Hymns.  Children's  Poems :  "Red 
Riding-Hood,"  "  The  Robin,"  etc.  Oriental  Poems  and 
Paraphrase^. 

VI.   PROSE  WRITINGS 279 

Much  of  his  Prose  of  Historical  or  Sectarian  Interest 
Only.  Charming  Nature-and  Folk-Studies  and  Sketches. 
"  Margaret  Smith's  Journal."  "  Old  Portraits  and  Modern 
Sketches."  "  Literary  Recreations  and  Miscellanies." 
Specimens  of  Whittier's  Prose, 


$art  SHE. 

TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.          ...        301 

Whittier's  death  at  Hampton  Falls,  N.  H.  Celebration 
of  his  birthdays.  Funeral  and  memorial  services.  Personal 
reminiscences.  Fac-simile  of  letter  to  Oliver  Wendell  Homes. 


APPENDIX. 
BIBLIOGRAPHY •      •       375 


PART  I. 

LIFE. 


JOHN   GREENLEAF   WHITTIER, 


CHAPTER  I. 

ANCESTRY. 

THE  Hermit  of  Amesbury,  the  Wood- 
thrush  of  Essex,  the  Martial  Quaker,  the 
Poet  of  Freedom,  the  Poet  of  the  Moral 
Sentiment,  —  such  are  some  of  the  titles 
bestowed  upon  Whittier  by  his  admirers. 
Let  us  call  him  the  Preacher-Poet,  for  he  has 
written  scarcely  a  poem  or  an  essay  that  does 
not  breathe  a  moral  sentiment  or  a  religious 
aspiration.  What  effect  this  predetermina- 
tion of  character  has  had  upon  his  artistic 
development  shall  be  discussed  in  another 
place. 

The  present  chapter  —  which  may  be 
called  the  propylaeum  or  vestibule  of  the 
biographical  structure  that  follows  —  will 
deal  with  the  poet's  ancestry,  and  the 
information  afforded  by  it,  and  the  two  chap- 
ters that  succeed  will  afford  unmistakable 
15 


1 6          JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

evidence  of  the  truth  that  a  poet,  no  less  than 
a  solar  system  or  a  loaf  of  bread,  is  the  logi- 
cal resultant  of  a  line  of  antecedent  forces 
and  circumstances.  The  fine  but  infrangible 
threads  of  our  destiny  are  spun  and  woven 
out  of  atom-fibres  indelibly  stamped  with 
the  previous  owners'  names.  Their  char- 
acters immingle  in  our  own, —  the  affluence 
or  the  indigence  of  their  intellects,  the  sugar 
or  the  nitre  of  their  wit,  the  shifting  sand  or 
the  unwedgeable  iron  of  their  moral  natures. 

The  name  Whittier  is  spelled  in  thirty- 
two  different  ways  in  the  old  records:  a  list 
of  these  different  spellings  is  given  in 
Daniel  Bodwell  Whittier's  genealogy  of 
the  family.  The  common  ancestor  of  the 
Whittiers  is  Thomas  Whittier,  who  in  the 
year  1638  came  from  Southampton,  England, 
to  New  England,  in  the  ship  "  Confidence," 
of  London,  John  Dobson,  master.  It  is 
recorded  of  Thomas  Whittier,  says  his  de- 
scendant, the  poet,  in  a  half  facetious  way, 
that  the  only  noteworthy  circumstance  con- 
nected with  his  coming  was  that  he  brought 
with  him  a  hive  of  bees.  He  was  born  in 
1620.  His  mother  was  probably  a  sister  of 


ANCESTRY.  17 

John  and  Henry  Rolfe,  with  the  former  of 
whom  he  came  to  America.  His  name  at 
that  time  was  spelled  "Whittle."  He  mar- 
ried Ruth  Green,  and  lived  at  first  in  Salis- 
bury, Mass.  He  seems  afterward  to  have 
lived  in  Newbury.  In  1650  he  removed  to 
Haverhill,  where  he  was  admitted  freeman, 
May  23,  1666. 

It  was  customary  in  those  days,  says 
the  historian  of  Haverhill,  for  the  nearest 
neighbors  to  sleep  in  the  garrisons  at  night, 
but  Thomas  Whittier  refused  to  take  shel- 
ter there  with  his  family.  "  Relying  upon 
the  weapons  of  his  faith,  he  left  his  own 
house  unguarded,  and  unprotected  with 
palisades,  and  carried  with  him  no  weapons 
of  war.  The  Indians  frequently  visited  him, 
and  the  family  often  heard  them,  in  the  still- 
ness of  the  evening,  whispering  beneath  the 
windows,  and  sometimes  saw  them  peep  in 
upon  the  little  group  of  practical ?  non-resist- 
ants.' Friend  Whittier  always  treated  them 
civilly  and  hospitably,  and  they  ever  retired 
without  molesting  him."*  Thomas  Whittier 

*  "The  History  of  Haverhill,  Mass. ;  from  its  first  settle- 
ment in  1640  to  the  year  1860.  By  George  Wingate  Chase, 
Haverhill.  Published  by  the  author,  1861." 


1 8  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

died  in  Haverhill,  November  28,  1696.  His 
autograph  appears  in  the  probate  records  of 
Salem,  Mass.,  as  witness  to  a  will  of  Samuel 
Gild.  His  widow  died  in  July,  1710,  and 
her  eldest  son  John  was  appointed  adminis- 
trator of  her  estate.  Thomas  had  ten  chil- 
dren, of  whom  John  became  the  ancestor  of 
the  most  numerous  branch  of  the  Whittiers. 
Joseph,  the  brother  of  John,  became  the 
head  of  another  branch  of  the  family,  and  is 
the  great-grandfather  of  our  poet.  Joseph 
married  Mary,  daughter  of  Joseph  Peasley, 
of  Haverhill,  by  whom  he  had  nine  children, 
among  them  Joseph,  2d,  the  grandfather  of 
the  poet.  Joseph,  2d,  married  Sarah  Green- 
leaf  of  Newbury,  by  whom  he  had  eleven 
children.  The  tenth  child,  John  (the  father 
of  the  poet),  married  Abigail  Hussey,  who 
was  a  daughter  of  Joseph  Hussey,  of  Somers- 
worth, —  now  Rollinsford, —  N.  H.,  a  town 
on  the  Piscataqua  River,  which  forms  the 
southern  part  of  the  boundary  line  between 
New  Hampshire  and  Maine.  The  mother 
of  Abigail  Hussey  (the  poet's  mother)  was 
Mercy  Evans,  of  Berwick,  Me.  John  Whit- 
tier,  the  father  of  the  poet,  died  in  Haverhill, 
June  30,  1830.  His  children  were  four  in 


ANCESTRY.  t$ 

number  :  (i)  Mary,  born  September  3, 
1806,  married  Jacob  Caldwell,  of  Haverhill, 
and  died  January  7,  1860;  (2)  John  Green- 
leaf,  the  poet,  born  December  17,  1807,  in 
Haverhill;  (3)  Matthew  Franklin,  born  July 
1 8,  1812,  married  Jane  E.  Vaughan;  (4) 
Elizabeth  Hussey,  born  December  7,  1815, 
died  September  3',  1864.  From  this  state- 
ment it  will  be  seen  that  Matthew  is  the 
only  surviving  member  of  the  family,  be- 
sides the  poet  himself.  Matthew  resides  in 
Boston,  and  has  sons,  daughters,  and  grand- 
children.* 

The  name  Whittier  constantly  appears 
in  important  documents  signed  by  the  chief 
citizens  of  Haverhill.  The  family  was  evi- 
dently respected  and  honored  by  the  com- 
munity. In  1669  a  Whittier  was  chosen 
town-constable.  It  is  recorded  that  in  1711 
Thomas  ^Whittier  —  probably  a  son  of 
Thomas  (ist) — was  one  of  a  militia  com- 
pany provided  with  snow-shoes  in  order  the 

*  The  foregoing  statements  are  taken  from  the  Whittier 
genealogy.  But  the  author  finds  that  there  are  a  few  slight 
discrepancies  of  date  between  this  book  and  the  inscriptions 
on  the  family  tombstones  in  Amesbury.  The  tombstones  say 
that  John  Whittier  died  "  nth  of  6rr.o.,  1831,"  and  that  Mary 
died  "  ist  mo.  7,  1861." 


20          JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

better  to  repel  an  anticipated  attack  of  the 
Indians.  But,  in  spite  of  civil  honors,  it  is 
well  known  that,  down  to  comparatively 
recent  times,  the  family  suffered  considerable 
social  persecution  and  slight  on  account  of 
their  religious  belief.  For  example,  when 
the  citizens  built  a  new  meeting-house,  in 
1699,  they  peremptorily  refused  to  allow  the 
Quakers  to  worship  in  it,  although  petitioned 
to  do  so  by  Joseph  Peasley  and  others,  and 
although  they  were  taxed  for  its  support.  It 
was  not  until  1774  that  an  act  was  passed  by 
the  State  exempting  dissenters  from  taxa- 
tion for  the  support  of  what  we  may  call 
the  State  religion.  It  is  important  to  bear 
this  in  mind,  if  we  would  know  all  the  in- 
fluences that  went  to  form  the  character  of 
the  poet. 

The  poet's  paternal  grandmother  was 
Sarah  Greenleaf,  of  Newbury.  The  gene- 
alogist of  the  Greenleafs  says :  "  From  all 
that  can  be  gathered  it  is  believed  that  the 
ancestors  of  the  Greenleaf  family  were 
Huguenots,  who  left  France  on  account  of 
their  religious  principles  some  time  in  the 
course  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  settled 
in  England.  The  name  was  probably  trans- 


ANCESTRY.  21 

iated  from  the  French  Feuillevert.*  Ed- 
mund Greenleaf,  the  ancestor  of  the  Ameri- 
can Greenleafs,  was  born  in  the  parish  of 
Brixham,  and  county  of  Devonshire,  near 
Torbay,  in  England,  about  the  year  1600." 
He  came  to  Newbury,  Mass.,  in  1635.  He 
was  by  trade  a  silk-dyer.  Respecting  the 
family  coat-of-arms  the  genealogist  gives, 
on  page  116,  the  following  interesting 
statement:  — 

"The  Hon.  William  Greenleaf,  once  of 
Boston,  and  then  of  New  Bedford,  being  in 
London  about  the  year  1760,  obtained  from 
an  office  of  heraldry  a  device,  said  to  be 
the  arms  of  the  family,  which  he  had 
painted,  and  the  painting  is  now  in  the  pos- 
session of  his  grand-daughter,  Mrs.  Ritchie, 
of  Roxbury,  Mass.  The  field  is  white  (ar- 
gent), bearing  a  chevron  between  three 
leaves  (vert).  The  crest  is  a  dove  stand- 
ing on  a  wreath  of  green  and  white,  hold- 
ing in  its  mouth  three  green  leaves.  The 
helmet  is  that  of  a  warrior  (visor  down)  j  a 
garter  below,  but  no  motto." 

*  Whittier  has  thus  alluded  to  this  surmise  :  — 
*'  The  name  the  Gallic  exile  bore, 

St.  Malo !  from  thy  ancient  mart, 
Became  upon  our  Western  shore 
Greenleaf  for  Feuillevert." 


22  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

What  more  appropriate  emblazonment 
for  the  escutcheon  of  our  Martial  Quaker 
poet  than  a  warrior's  helmet,  and  a  dove 
holding  in  its  mouth  the  emblem  of 
peace! 

Jonathan  Greenleaf,  born  in  Newbury,  in 
1723,  is  described  as  possessing  a  remark- 
ably kind  and  conciliatory  disposition. 
"Even  the  tones  of  his  voice  were  gentle 
and  persuasive,  and  he  was  very  frequently 
resorted  to  as  a  peacemaker  between  con- 
tending parties,.  His  dress  was  remarkably 
uniform,  usually  in  his  later  years  being 
deep  blue  or  drab.  He  seldom  walked  fast, 
his  gait  being  a  measured  and  moderate 
step.  His  manners  were  plain,  unassuming, 
but  very  polite.  He  was  very  religious,  and 
a  strict  Calvinist.  Nothing  but  absolute 
necessity  kept  him  from  public  worship  on 
the  Sabbath,  and  he  was  scarce  ever  known 
to  omit  regular  morning  and  evening 
worship." 

Of  Professor  Simon  Greenleaf,  the  Har- 
vard Law  Professor  (1833-1845),  the  family 
genealogist  says:  "For  the  last  thirty  years 
of  his  life  he  was  one  of  the  most  spiritu- 
ally-minded of  men,  evidently  intent  on 


ANCESTRY.  23 

walking  humbly  with  God,  and  doing  good 
to  the  bodies  and  souls  of  his  fellow-men; 
scarce  ever  writing  a  letter  of  friendship 
even,  without  breathing  in  it  a  prayer,  or 
delivering  in  it  some  good  message."  Pro- 
fessor Greenleaf  published  some  dozen 
works,  both  legal  and  religious.  It  is  a 
curious  fact  that  his  son  James  married 
Mary  Longfellow,  a  sister  of  the  Cambridge 
poet,  thus  making  Whittier  and  Longfellow 
distant  kinsmen.* 

Another  English  Greenleaf — contempo- 
rary with  Edmund,  being  a  silk-dyer  as 
well  as  he,  and  in  all  probability  a  near 
kinsman  —  was  a  lieutenant  under  Oliver 
Cromwell,  and  served  also  under  Richard 
Cromwell,  and  was  in  the  army  of  the  Pro- 
tector under  General  Monk,  at  the  time  of 
the  restoration  of  Charles  II. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  call  the  reader's 
attention  to  the  significant  fact,  elicited  by 
the  foregoing  researches,  that,  in  tracing 
down  two  hereditary  lines  of  the  poet's 


*  It  may  be  added  that  the  ancestral  home  of  the  Long- 
fellows  is  still  standing  in  Byfield,  about  five  miles  distant 
from  the  Whittier  homestead  in  Haverhill.  (See  the  author's 
Life  of  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow,  p,  15.)  - 


24  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

paternal  ancestors,  we  discover  that  for 
many  generations  those  ancestors  suffered 
religious  persecution  for  loyalty  to  their 
religious  convictions,  and  that  many  of  them 
were  remarkable  for  their  sensitive  piety. 

Turn  we  now  to  the  maternal  ancestry 
of  Whittier. 

In  1873  the  poet  wrote  to  Mr.  D.  B. 
Whittier,  of  Boston,  as  follows:  — 

"My  mother  was  a  descendant  of  Chris- 
topher Hussey,  of  Hampton,  N.  H.,  who 
married  a  daughter  of  Rev.  Stephen  Bache- 
lor, the  first  minister  of  that  town. 

"Daniel  Webster  traces  his  ancestry  to 
the  same  pair,  so  Joshua  Coffin  informed 
me.  Colonel  W.  B.  Greene,  of  Boston,  is 
of  the  same  family."* 

In  the  light  of  the  preceding  note,  the 
following  letter  of  Col.  W.  B.  Greene  ex- 
plains itself:  — 

"JAMAICA  PLAIN,  MASS.,  Sept.  24,  1873. 
"  Mr.  D.  B.  WHITTIER,  Danville,  Vt. 

"DEAR  SIR, —  Yours  of  September  20 
is  just  received,  and  I  reply  to  it  at  once. 

*  The  name  of  Daniel  Webster's  paterna.  grandmother 
was  Susannah  Bachelor,  or  Batchelder. 


ANCESTRY.  2$ 

My  grandfather,  on  my  mother's  side,  was 
the  Rev.  William  Batchelder,  of  Haverhill, 
Mass.  In  the  year  1838  I  had  a  conversa- 
tion, on  a  matter  of  military  business,  with 
the  Hon.  Daniel  Webster;  and,  to  my  as- 
tonishment, Mr.  Webster  treated  me  as  a 
kinsman.  My  mother  afterwards  explained 
his  conduct  by  telling  me  that  one  of  Mr. 
W.'s  female  ancestors  was  a  Batchelder.  In 
1838  or  1839,  or  thereabouts,  I  met  school- 
master [Joshua]  Coffin  on  a  Mississippi 
steamboat,  near  Baton  Rouge.  The  cap- 
tain of  the  boat  told  me,  confidentially, 
that  Coffin  was  engaged  in  a  dangerous  mis- 
sion respecting  some  slaves,  and  inquired 
whether  my  aid  and  countenance  could  be 
counted  on  in  favor  of  Coffin,  in  case  vio- 
lence should  be  offered  him.  This  he  did 
because  I  was  on  the  boat  as  a  military  man, 
and  in  uniform.  When  Coffin  found  he 
could  count  on  me,  he  came  and  talked  with 
me,  and  finally  told  me  he  had  [once]  been 
hired  by  Daniel  Webster  to  go  to  Ipswich, 
and  there  look  up  Mr.  W.'s  ancestry.  He 
spoke  of  Rev.  Stephen  Batchelder,  of  New 
Hampshire,  and  said  that  Daniel  Webster, 
John  G.  Whittier,  and  myself  were  related 


26  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

by  Batchelder  blood.  I  did  not  feel  at  all 
ashamed  of  my  relatives.  In  1841  or  1842 
Mrs.  Crosby,  of  Hallowell,  Me.,  who  had 
charge  of  my  grandfather  when  he  was  a 
boy,  and  knew  all  about  the  family,  told  me 
that  Daniel  Webster  was  a  Batchelder,  that 
she  had  known  his  father  intimately,  and 
knew  Daniel  when  he  was  a  boy.  At  the 
time  of  my  conversation  with  her,  Aunt 
Crosby  might  have  been  anywhere  from 
seventy-five  to  eighty-five  years  of  age. 
When  I  was  a  boy,  at  (say)  about  the  year 
1827  or  1828, 1  used  to  go  often  to  the  house 
of  J.  G.  Whittier's  father,  a  little  out  of 
the  village  (now  city)  of  Haverhill,  Mass. 
There  was  a  Mrs.  Hussey  in  the  family,  who 
baked  the  best  squash  pies  I  ever  ate,  and 
knew  how  to  make  the  pine  floors  shine  like 
a  looking-glass. 

"This  is,  I  think,  all  the  information,  in 
answer  to  your  request,  that  I  am  competent 
to  give  you. 

K  Yours  respectfully, 
K  WILLIAM  BATCHELDER  GREENE." 

In  a  note  addressed  to  the  New  England 
Historical  and  Genealogical  Society,  the 


ANCESTRY.  27 

poet  says:  "On  my  mother's  side  my 
grandfather  was  Joseph  Hussey,  of  Som- 
ersworth,  N.  H.;  married  Mercy  Evans,  of 
Berwick,  Me." 

Some  of  the  genealogical  links  connect- 
ing the  Husseys  of  Somers.worth  with  those 
of  Hampton  have  not  yet  been  recovered. 
But  this  mucn  is  known  of  the  family,*  that 
in  1630  Christopher  Hussey  came  from 
Dorking,  Surrey,  England,  to  Lynn,  Mass. 
He  had  married,  in  Holland,  Theodate,  the 
daughter  of  the  Rev.  Stephen  Bachiler,  a 
Puritan  minister,  who  had  fled  to  that  coun- 
try to  avoid  persecution  in  England.  The 
author  was  told  by  a  local  antiquary  in 
Hampton,  N.  H.,  that  there  is  a  tradition  in 
the  town  that  Stephen  Bachiler  would  not 
let  his  daughter  marry  young  Hussey  unless 
he  embraced  the  Puritan  faith.  His  love 
was  so  great  that  he  consented,  and  came 
with  his  bride  to  America,  where  two 
years  later  his  father-in-law  followed  him. 
Stephen  Bachiler  came  to  Lynn  in  1632, 
with  six  persons,  his  relatives  and  friends, 
who  had  belonged  to  his  church  in  Holland, 
and  with  them  he  established  a  little  inde- 

*  See  histories  of  Lynn  and  Newbuty,  passim. 


28  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

pendent  church  in  Lynn.  The  progenitive 
faculty  of  this  worthy  divine  must  have 
been  highly  developed:  he  was  married 
four  times,  and  was  dismissed  from  his 
church  at  Lynn  on  account  of  charges  twice 
preferred  against  him  by  women  of  his  con- 
gregation. The  recorded  dates  show  that 
both  he  and  his  son-in-law,  Hussey,  came 
to  Hampton  in  the  year  1639.  The  Hamp- 
ton authorities  had  the  previous  year  made 
Mr.  Bachiler  and  Mr.  Hussey  each  a  grant 
of  three  hundred  acres  of  land,  to  induce 
them  to  settle  there.  When  and  how  the 
Husseys  became  Quakers  is  not  known  to 
the  author.  But  in  Savage's  Genealogical 
Dictionary,  II.  507,  it  is  recorded  that  as 
early  as  1688  a  certain  John  Hussey  of 
Hampton  was  a  preacher  to  the  Quakers  in 
Newcastle,  Del.  The  mother  of  the  poet 
was  a  devoted  disciple  of  the  Society  of 
Friends.  That  she  was  a  person  of  deep 
and  tender  religious  nature  is  evident  to 
one  looking  at  the  excellent  oil-portrait  of 
her  which  hangs  in  the  little  parlor  at  Ames- 
bury.  The  head  is  inclined  graciously  to 
one  side,  and  the  face  wears  that  expression 
of  ineffable  tranquillity  which  is  always  a 


ANCESTRY.  2Q 

witness  to  generations  of  Quaker  ancestry. 
In  the  picture,  her  garments  are  of  smooth 
and  immaculate  drab.  The  poet  once  re- 
marked to  the  writer  that  one  of  the  reasons 
why  his  mother  removed  to  Amesbury,  in 
1840,  was  that  she  might  be  near  the  little 
Friends'  "Meeting"  in  that  town. 

Thus  among  the  maternal  as  well  as  the 
paternal  progenitors  of  our  Quaker  poet  we 
find  the  religious  nature  predominant. 


30  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MERRIMACK. 

IN  the  valley  of  the  Merrimack  John 
Greenleaf  Whittier  was  born  (December 
17,  1807),  and  in  the  same  region  he  has 
passed  nearly  his  entire  life,  first  in  the  town 
of  Haverhill,  and  then  in  Amesbury,  some 
nine  miles  distant.  To  strangers,  the  hilly 
old  county  of  Essex  wears  a  somewhat  bleak 
and  Scotian  look;  but  it  is  fertile  in  poetical 
resources,  and  the  tillers  of  its  glebe  are 
passionately  attached  to  its  blue  hills  and 
sunken  dales,  its  silver  rivers  and  wind- 
ing roads,  umbrageous  towns  and  thrifty 
homes.  Like  Burns  and  Cowper,  Whittier 
is  distinctively  a  rustic  poet,  and  he  and 
Whitman  are  the  most  indigenous  and  patri- 
otic of  our  singers.  His  idyllic  poetry 
savors  of  the  soil  and  is  full  of  local  allu- 
sions. It  is,  therefore,  essential  to  the  full 
enjoyment  of  his  writings  that  one  should 


THE    VALLEY  OF  THE  MERRIMACK.      31 

get,  at  the  outset,  as  vivid  an  idea  as  pos- 
sible both  of  the  Essex  landscape  and  the 
Essex  farmer. 

Whittier  was  born  some  three  miles  north- 
east of  what  is  now  the  thriving  little  city  of 
Haverhill.  It  was  settled  in  1640  by  twelve 
men  from  Newbury  and  Ipswich.  Its  In- 
dian name  was  Pentucket, —  the  appellation 
of  a  tribe  once  dwelling  on  its  site,  a  tribe 
under  the  jurisdiction  of  Passaconaway, 
chief  of  the  Pennacooks.  The  city  is  built 
partly  on  the  river-terrace  of  the  northern 
shore,  and  partly  on  the  adjoining  hills.  It 
is  celebrated  in  colonial  history  for  the  heroic 
exploit  of  Hannah  Duston,  who,  when  taken 
captive  by  a  party  of  twenty  savages  at  the 
time  of  the  Haverhill  massacre,  killed  and 
scalped  them  all,  with  the  aid  of  her  com- 
panion (also  a  woman),  and  returned  in 
safety  to  the  settlement.  A  handsome  monu- 
ment has  recently  been  erected  to  her  mem- 
ory in  the  city  square;  it  is  a  granite  structure, 
with  bronze  bas-reliefs,  and  surmounted  by 
a  bronze  statue  of  the  heroine.  In  the  pub- 
lic library  of  the  city  (founded  in  1873)  may 
be  seen  a  fine  bust  of  Whittier,  by  Powers. 
On  February  17  and  18,  1882,  almost  the 


32  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

entire  business  portion  of  the  city  was 
destroyed  by  fire;  eight  acres  were  burned 
over,  and  $2,000,000  worth  of  property 
destroyed.  Haverhill  is  eighteen  miles  east 
of  Lowell,  thirty-two  miles  northwest  of 
Boston,  and  six  miles  northeast  of  Law- 
rence. The  manufacture  of  boots  and 
shoes  gives  employment  to  6,000  men. 
The  population  in  1870  was  13,092. 

Down  to  the  sea,  some  seventeen  miles 
away,  winds  the  beautiful  Merrimack,  with 
the  deep-shaded  old  town  of  Newburyport 
seated  at  its  mouth.  A  little  more  than  half 
way  down  lies  Amesbury,  just  where  the 
winding  Powwow  joins  the  Merrimack,  but 
not  before  its  nixies  and  river-horses  have 
been  compelled  to  put  their  shoulders  to  the 
wheels  of  several  huge  cotton  mills  that  lift 
their  forbidding  bulk  out  of  the  very  centre 
of  the  village.  A  horse-railroad  connects 
Amesbury  with  Newburyport,  six  miles  dis- 
tant. At  about  half  that  distance  the  road 
crosses  the  Merrimack  by  way  of  Deer  Island 
and  connecting  bridges.  The  sole  house  on 
this  wild,  rough  island  is  the  home  of  the 
Spoffords. 

As  you  near  Newburyport,  coming  down 


THE    VALLEY  OF  THE  MERRIMACK.     33 

from  Amesbury,  you  see  the  river  widened 
into  an  estuary,  and  bordered  by  wide  and 
intensely  green  salt-meadows.  Numerous 
large  vessels  lie  at  the  wharves,  a  "gunde- 
low,"  with  lateen  sail,  creeps  slowly  down 
the  current;  the  draw  of  the  railroad  bridge 
is  perhaps  opening  for  the  passage  of  a  tug, 
and  out  at  sea  athwart  the  river's  mouth  — 

"  Long  and  low,  with  dwarf  trees  crowned, 
Plum  Island  lies,  like  a  whale  aground, 
A  stone's  toss  over  the  narrow  sound." 

Prophecy  of  Samuel  Sewall. 

Far  off  to  the  left  lie  Salisbury  and 
Hampton  beaches,  celebrated  by  Whittier 
in  his  poems  "  Hampton  Beach,"  w  Snow- 
Bound,"  and  "The  Tent  on  the  Beach":  — 

"  Where  Salisbury's  level  marshes  spread 

Mile-wide  as  flies  the  laden  bee  ; 
Where  merry  mowers,  hale  and  strong, 
Swept,  scythe  on  scythe,  their  swaths  along 
The  low  green  prairies  of  the  sea." 

Snow-Bound. 

Standing  on  the  sand-ridge  by  the  beach, 
you  have  before  you  the  washing  surf,  and 
miles  on'  miles  of  level  sand,  rimmed  with 
creeping,  silver  water-lace,  overhung  here 
and  there  by  thinnest  powdery  mist.  Out 


34  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

at  sea  the  waves  are  tossing  their  salt- 
threaded  manes,  or  flinging  the  sunlight  from 
their  supple  coats  —  (aeonian  roar;  white- 
haired,  demoniac  shapes) — while  at  evening 
you  see  far  away  to  the  northeast  the  revolv- 
ing light  of  the  Isles  of  Shoals. 

"  Quail  and  sandpiper  and  swallow  and  sparrow  are  here  ; 
Sweet  sound  their  manifold  notes,  high  and  low,  far 

and  near; 

Chorus  of  musical  waters,  the  rush  of  the  breeze, 
Steady  and  strong  from  the  south,  —  what  glad  voices 

are  these !  " 

So  sings  the  poet  of  the  Isles  of  Shoals, 
Celia  Thaxter,  who,  it  is  said,  was  dis- 
covered and  introduced  to  the  world  by 
Whittier,  —  her  rocky  home  being  still  one 
of  his  favorite  summer  resorts. 

Landward,  your  gaze  sweeps  the  beauti- 
ful salt-meadows  and  rests  on  the  woods 
beyond,  or  reaches  still  farther  to  the  steeples 
of  Newburyport  rising  sculpttiresquely  in 
the  pellucid  atmosphere,  and  often  at  even- 
ing filling  the  air  with  faint  silver  hymns  that 
chime  with  the  liquid  undertone  of  the 
pouring  surf. 

The  valley  of  the  Merrimack  with  the 
surrounding  region,  is,  or  was  until  recently, 


THE    VALLEY  OF  THE  MERRIMACK.      35 

full  of  legends  of  the  marvellous  and  the 
supernatural,  which,  in  this  remote  and  iso- 
lated corner  of  the  State,  have  come  down 
in  unbroken  tradition  from  earlier  times. 
One  of  the  distinguishing  peculiarities  of 
Whittier's  genius  is  his  story -telling  power, 
and  since  he  has  not  only  written  many 
poems  about  the  legends  of  his  native  prov- 
ince, but  also  published  in  his  youth  two 
small  collections  of  those  legends  in  prose 
form,  it  will  be  proper  to  give  the  reader 
a  taste  of  them,  both  here  and  elsewhere 
in  the  volume,  and  thus  assist  him  to  an 
understanding  of  our  poet's  early  environ- 
ment. 

The  following  extracts  from  his  "  Super- 
naturalism  of  New  England,"  published  in 
the  year  1847,  are  germane  to  the  subject  in 
hand: — 

"One  of  my  earliest  recollections,"  he 
says,  "  is  that  of  an  old  woman  residing  at 
Rocks  Village,  in  Haverhill,  about  two 
miles  from  the  place  of  my  nativity,  who  for 
many  years  had  borne  the  unenviable  repu- 
tation of  a  witch.  She  certainly  had  the 
look  of  one, —  a  combination  of  form,  voice, 


36  JOHN  GREENLEAF  IVHITTIER,     -• 

and  features,  which  would  have  made  the 
fortune  of  an  English  witch-finder  in  the 
days  of  Matthew  Paris  or  the  Sir  John  Pod- 
gers  of  Dickens,  and  insured  her  speedy 
conviction  in  King  James'  High  Court  of 
Justiciary.  She  was  accused  of  divers  ill- 
doings,  such  as  preventing  the  cream  in  her 
neighbor's  churn  from  becoming  butter,  and 
snuffing  out  candles  at  huskings  and  quilt- 
ing parties.  The  poor  old  woman  was  at 
length  so  sadly  annoyed  by  her  unfortunate 
reputation,  that  she  took  the  trouble  to  go 
before  a  Justice  of  the  Peace,  and  made  a 
solemn  oath  that  she  was  a  Christian  woman 
and  no  witch." 

"  Some  forty  years  ago,  on  the  banks  of 
the  pleasant  little  creek  separating  Berwick, 
in  Maine,  from  Somersworth,  in  New  Hamp- 
shire, within  sight  of  my  mother's  home, 
dwelt  a  plain,  sedate  member  of  the  Society 
of  Friends,  named  Bantum.  He  passed, 
throughout  a  circle  of  several  miles,  as  a 
conjurer  and  skilful  adept  in  the  art  of 
magic.  To  him  resorted  farmers  who  had 
lost  their  cattle,  matrons  whose  household 
gear,  silver  spoons,  and  table-linen  had  been 


THE   VALLEY  OF  THE  MERRIMACK.      37 

stolen,  and  young  maidens  whose  lovers 
were  absent  5  and  the  quiet,  meek-spirited 
old  man  received  them  all  kindly,  put  on  his 
huge,  iron-rimmed  spectacles,  opened  his 
r  conjuring  book,'  which  my  mother  de- 
scribes as  a  large  clasped  volume,  in  strange 
language  and  black-letter  type,  and  after  due 
reflection  and  consideration  gave  the  re- 
quired answers  without  money  and  without 
price.  The  curious  old  volume  is  still  in 
possession  of  the  conjurers  family.  Appar- 
ently inconsistent  as  was  this  practice  of  the 
Black  Art  with  the  simplicity  and  truthful- 
ness of  his  religious  profession,  I  have  not 
been  able  to  learn  that  he  was  ever  sub- 
jected to  censure  on  account  of  it." 

This  incident  reminds  one  of  some  verses 
in  a  poem  of  Whittier's  entitled  "  Flowers 
in  Winter":  — 

"  A  wizard  of  the  Merrimack — 

So  old  ancestral  legends  say  — 
Could  call  green  leaf  and  blossom  back 
To  frosted  stem  and  spray. 

The  dry  logs  of  the  cottage  wall, 

Beneath  his  touch,  put  out  their  leaves ; 

The  clay-bound  swallow,  at  his  call, 
Played  round  the  icy  eaves. 


38  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

The  settler  saw  his  oaken  flail 

Take  bud,  and  bloom  before  his  eyes ; 

From  frozen  pools  he  saw  the  pale, 
Sweet  summer  lilies  rise. 

The  beechen  platter  sprouted  wild, 
The  pipkin  wore  its  old-time  green ; 

The  cradle  o'er  the  sleeping  child 
Became  a  leafy  screen." 

In  chapter  second  of  the  ?P  Supernatural- 
ism  "  we  have  a  whimsical  story  about  a 
certain  "  Aunt  Morse,"  who  lived  in  a  town 
adjoining  Amesbury:  — 

r?  After  the  death  of  Aunt  Morse  no  will 
was  found,  though  it  was  understood  before 
her  decease  that  such  a  document  was  in 
the  hands  of  Squire  S.,  one  of  her  neighbors. 
One  cold  winter  evening,  some  weeks  after 
her  departure,  Squire  S.  sat  in  his  parlor, 
looking  over  his  papers,  when,  hearing  some 
one  cough  in  a  familiar  way,  he  looked  up. 
and  saw  before  him  a  little  crooked  old 
woman,  in  an  oil-nut  colored  woollen  frock, 
blue  and  white  tow  and  linen  apron,  and 
striped  blanket,  leaning  her  sharp,  pinched 
face  on  one  hand,  while  the  other  supported 
a  short  black  tobacco  pipe,  at  which  she 


TUB  VALLEY  OF  THE  MERRIMACK.     39 

was  puffing  in  the  most  vehement  and  spite- 
ful manner  conceivable. 

"The  squire  was  a  man  of  some  nerve; 
but  his  first  thought  was  to  attempt  an  es- 
cape, from  which  he  was  deterred  only  by 
the  consideration  that  any  effort  to  that 
effect  would  necessarily  bring  him  nearer 
to  his  unwelcome  visitor. 

"'Aunt  Morse,'  he  said  at  length,  'for  the 
Lord's  sake,  get  right  back  to  the  bury  ing- 
ground!  What  on  earth  are  you  here  for?' 

"  The  apparition  took  her  pipe  deliberately 
from  her  mouth,  and  informed  him  that  she 
came  to  see  justice  done  with  her  will;  and 
that  nobody  need  think  of  cheating  her, 
dead  or  alive.  Concluding  her  remark  with 
a  shrill  emphasis,  she  replaced  her  pipe,  and 
puffed  away  with  renewed  vigor.  Upon  the 
squire's  promising  to  obey  her  request,  she 
refilled  her  pipe,  which  she  asked  him  to 
light,  and  then  took  her  departure." 

"Elderly  people  in  this  region,"  says  our 
author,  "yet  tell  marvellous  stories  of  Gen- 
eral M.,  of  Hampton,  N.  H.,  especially  of 
his  league  with  the  devil,  who  used  to  visit 
him  occasionally  in  the  shape  of  a  small  man 
in  a  leathern  dress.  The  general's  house 


40          JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

was  once  burned,  in  revenge,  as  it  is  said,  by 
the  fiend,  whom  the  former  had  outwitted. 
He  had  agreed,  it  seems,  to  furnish  the 
general  with  a  boot  full  of  gold  and  silver 
poured  annually  down  the  chimney.  The 
shrewd  Yankee  cut  off,  on  one  occasion,  the 
foot  of  the  boot,  and  the  devil  kept  pouring 
down  the  coin  from  the  chimney's  top,  in  a 
vain  attempt  to  fill  it,  until  the  room  was 
literally  packed  with  the  precious  metal. 
When  tl\e  general  died,  he  was  laid  out, 
and  put  in  a  coffin,  as  usual;  but,  on  the 
day  of  the  funeral,  it  was  whispered  about 
that  his  body  was  missing;  and  the  neigh- 
bors came  to  the  charitable  conclusion  that 
the  enemy  had  got  his  own  at  last." 

It  should  be  understood  that  the  state  of 
society  which  produced  such  superstitions 
and  legends  as  the  foregoing  lingers  now 
only  in  secluded  corners  of  New  England. 
The  railroad,  the  newspaper,  and  the  influx 
of  foreign  population,  have  combined  to 
frighten  away  ghost,  conjurer,  and  witch,  or 
to  drive  them  up  into  the  mountainous  dis- 
tricts. There  are  still  plenty  of  quaint  and 
picturesque  old  Puritan  farmers  j  and  their 


VALLEY  OF  THE  MERRIMACK.     4l 

mythology  is  antique  and  rusty  enough,  to 
be  sure.  But  the  folk-lore  of  the  early  clays, 
—  where  is  it?  Let  the  shriek  of  the  steam- 
demon  answer,  or  that  powerful  magician, 
the  "  Spirit  of  the  Age,"  who,  ten  thousand 
times  divided,  and  slyly  hidden  in  plethoric 
leathern  mail  bags,  daily  rushes  into  the  re- 
motest nooks  and  corners  of  the  land,  there 
to  enter  into  the  nooks  and  corners  of  the 
mind  of  man.  The  "  Spirit  of  the  Age  "  has 
exorcised  the  spirits  of  the  ingle  and  the 
forest. 


42          JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIE? 


CHAPTER  III. 

BOYHOOD. 

THE  birthplace  and  early  home  of  W hit- 
tier  is  a  lonely  farm-house  situated  at  a  dis- 
tance of  three  miles  northeast  of  the  city  oi 
Haverhill,  Mass.  The  winding  road  lead- 
ing to  it  is  the  one  described  in  "  Snow- 
Bound."  A  drive  or  a  walk  of  one  mile 
brings  you  to  sweet  Kenoza  Lake,  with  the 
castellated  stone  residence  of  Dr.  J.  R. 
Nichols  crowning  the  summit  of  the  high 
hill  that  overlooks  it.  From  the  hill  the 
eye  sweeps  the  horizon  in  every  direction  to 
a  distance  of  fifty  or  a  hundred  miles.  Far 
to  the  northwest  rise  bluely  the  three  peaks 
of  Monadnock.  Nearer  at  hand,  in  the  same 
direction,  the  towns  of  Atkinson  and  Strat- 
ford whiten  the  hillsides,  while  southward, 
through  a  clove  in  the  hills,  one  catches  a 
glimpse  of  the  smoky  city  of  Lawrence. 

Two    other    lakes    besides    Kenoza    lie 


BOYHOOD  45 

in  the  immediate  vicinity:  namely,  Round 
Lake  and  Lake  Saltonstall.  Kenoza  is 
the  lake  in  which  Whittier  used  to  fish  and 
boat.  It  was  he  who  gave  to  it  its  present 
name  (meaning  pickerel)  :  he  wrote  a  very 
pretty  poem  for  the  day  of  the  rechristening, 
in  1859.  The  lake  lies  in  a  bowl-shaped  de- 
pression. The  country  thereabouts  seems 
entirely  made  up  of  huge  earth-bowls,  here 
open  to  the  sky,  and  there  turned  bottom- 
upwards  to  make  hills. 

No  prettier,  quieter,  lovelier  lake  than 
Kenoza  exists,  —  a  pure  and  spotless  mirror, 
reflecting  in  its  cool,  translucent  depths  the 
rosy  clouds  of  morning  and  of  evening,  the 
silver-azure  tent  of  day,  the  gliding  boat, 
the  green  meadow-grasses,  and  the  massy 
foliage  of  the  terraced  pines  and  cedars  that 
sweep  upward  from  its  waters  in  stately 
pomp,  rank  over  rank,  to  meet  the  sky. 
Here,  in  one  quarter  of  the  lake,  the  surface 
is  only  wrinkled  by  the  tiniest  wavelets  or 
crinkles;  yonder,  near  another  portion  of 
its  irregularly  picturesque  shore,  a  thousand 
white  sun-butterflies  seem  dancing  on  the 
surface,  and  the  loveliest  wind-dapples 
curve  and  gleam.  Along  the  shore  are 


46          JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

sweet  wild  roses  interpleached,  and  flower- 
de-luce,  and  yellow  water-lilies.  In  such  a 
circular  earth-bowl  the  faintest  sounds  are 
easily  heard  across  the  water.  Far  oft'  you 
hear  the  cheery  cackle  of  a  hen;  in  the 
meadows  the  singing  of  insects,  the  chat- 
tering of  blackbirds,  and  the  cry  of  the 
peewee;  and  the  ring  of  the  woodman's 
axe  floats  in  rippling  echoes  over  the  water. 
In  one  of  his  earlier  essays  Mr.  Whittier 
tells  the  following  romantic  story:  "Who- 
ever has  seen  Great  Pond,  in  the  East 
Parish  of  Haverhill,  has  seen  one  of  the 
very  loveliest  of  the  thousand  little  lakes 
or  ponds  of  New  England.  With  its  soft 
slopes  of  greenest  verdure  —  its  white  and 
sparkling  sand-rim  —  its  southern  hem  of 
pine  and  maple,  mirrored  with  spray  and 
leaf  in  the  glassy  water — its  graceful  hill- 
sentinels  round  about,  white  with  the 
orchard-bloom  of  spring,  or  tasselled  with 
the  corn  of  autumn  —  its  long  sweep  of 
blue  waters,  broken  here  and  there  by  pict- 
uresque headlands,  —  it  would  seem  a  spot, 
of  all  others,  where  spirits  of  evil  must 
shrink,  rebuked  and  abashed,  from  the 
presence  of  the  beautiful.  Yet  here,  too, 


BOYHOOD,  47 

has  the  shadow  of  the  supernatural  fallen. 
A  lady  of  my  acquaintance,  a  staid,  unim- 
aginative church-member,  states  that  a  few 
years  ago  she  was  standing  in  the  angle 
formed  by  two  roads,  one  of  which  traverses 
the  pond-shore,  the  other  leading  over  the 
hill  which  rises  abruptly  from  the  water.  It 
was  a  warm  summer  evening,  just  at  sunset. 
She  was  startled  by  the  appearance  of  a 
horse  and  cart  of  the  kind  used  a  century 
ago  in  New  England,  driving  rapid!}'  down 
the  steep  hillside,  and  crossing  the  wall  a 
few  yards  before  her,  without  noise  or  dis- 
placing of  a  stone.  The  driver  sat  sternly 
erect,  with  a  fierce  countenance;  grasping 
the  reins  tightly,  and  looking  neither  to  the 
right  nor  the  left.  Behind  the  cart,  and 
apparently  lashed  to  it,  was  a  woman  of 
gigantic  size,  her  countenance  convulsed 
with  a  blended  expression  of  rage  and 
agony,  writhing  and  struggling,  like  Lao- 
coon  in  the  folds  of  the  serpent."  The 
mysterious  cart  moved  across  the  street, 
and  disappeared  at  the  margin  of  the 
pond. 

The    two    miles    of    road    that    separate 
Kenoza  from   the   old  Whittier   homestead 


48          JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

form  a  lonely  stretch,  passing  between  high 
hills  rolled  back  on  either  side  in  wolds  that 
show  against  the  sky.  The  homestead  is 
situated  at  the  junction  of  the  main  road  to 
Amesbury  and  a  cross-road  to  Plaistow. 
It  is  as  wild  and  lonely  a  place  as  Craigen- 
puttock,  —  the  hills  shutting  down  all 
around,  so  that  there  is  absolutely  no 
prospect  in  any  direction,  and  no  othei 
house  visible.  But  so  much  the  better  foi 
meditation.  f?The  Children  of  the  Light'' 
need  only  their  own  souls  to  commune 
with.  The  expression  that  rose  continually 
to  the  author's  lips  on  visiting  this  place 
was  a  line  from  "Snow-Bound," — 

"  A  universe  of  sky  and  snow." 

Not  that  the  time  was  winter,  but  that  the 
locality  explained  the  line  so  vividly,  —  bet- 
ter than  any  commentary  could  do.  Local- 
ity exercises  a  great  influence  on  a  poet's 
genius.  Whitman,  for  example,  has  always 
lived  by  the  sea,  and  he  is  the  poet  of  the 
infinite.  Whittier  was  born,  and  passed  his 
boyhood  and  youth,  in  a  green,  sunken 
pocket  of  the  inland  hills,  and  he  became 
the  poet  of  the  heart  and  the  home.  The 


BOYHOOD.  49 

one  poet  wrestled  with  the  waves  of  the  sea 
and  the  waves  of  humanity  in  great  cities; 
the  other  lived  the  simple,  quiet  life  of  a 
farmer,  loving  his  mother,  his  sister,  his 
Quaker  sect,  freedom,  and  his  own  hearth. 
Both  are  as  lowly  in  origin  as  Carlyle  or 
Burns. 

Between  the  front  door  of  the  old  home- 
stead and  the  road  rises  a  grassy,  wooded 
bank,  at  the  foot  of  which  flows  a  little  am- 
ber-colored brook.  The  brook  is  mentioned 
in  "  Snow-Bound  ":  — 

"  We  minded  that  the  sharpest  ear 
The  buried  brooklet  could  not  hear, 
The  music  of  whose  liquid  lip 
Had  been  to  us  companionship, 
And,  in  our  lonely  life,  had  grown 
To  have  an  almost  human  tone." 

Across  the  road  is  the  barn.  The  house 
is  very  plain,  and  not  very  large.  Entering 
the  front  door  you  are  in  a  small  entry  with 
a  steep,  quaint,  little  staircase.  On  the 
right  is  the  parlor  where  Whittier  wrote. 
In  the  tiny,  low-studded  room  on  the  left,  he 
was  born,  and  in  the  same  room  his  father 
and  "Uncle  Moses"  died.  The  room  is 

4 


50  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIEP 

about  fourteen  by  fourteen  feet,  is  partly 
wainscoted,  has  a  fireplace  and  three  win- 
dows. 

All  the  windows  in  the  house  have  small 
panes,  nine  in  the  upper  and  six  in  the 
lower  sash.  The  building  is  supposed  to  be 
two  hundred  and  twelve  years  old.  The 
kitchen  is,  of  course,  the  great  attraction. 
Let  us  suppose  that  it  is  winter,  and  that  we 
are  all  cosily  seated  around  the  blazing  fire- 
place. Now,  let  us  talk  over  together  the 
old  days  and  scenes.  The  best  picture  of 
the  inner  life  of  the  Quaker  farmer's  family 
can  of  course  be  had  in  "  Snow-Bound,"  — 
a  little  idyl  as  delicate,  spontaneous,  and 
true  to  nature  in  its  limnings  as  a  minute 
frost-picture  on  a  pane  of  glass,  or  the  fairy 
landscape  richly  mirrored  in  the  film 
of  a  water-bubble.  After  such  a  picture, 
painted  by  the  poet  himself,  it  only  remains 
for  the  writer  to  give  a  few  supplementary 
touches  here  and  there.  The  old  kitchen, 
although  diminished  in  size  by  a  dividing 
partition,  is  otherwise  almost  unchanged. 
It  is  a  cosey  old  room,  with  its  fireplace,  and 
huge  breadth  of  chimney  with  inset  cup- 
boards and  oven  and  mantelpiece.  Above 


BOYHOOD.  51 

the  mantel  is  the  nail  where  hung  the  old 
bull's-eye  watch.  Set  into  one  side  of  the 
kitchen  is  the  cupboard  where  the  pewter 
plates  and  platters  were  ranged;  and  here 
upon  the  wall  is  the  circle  worn  by  the  "  old 
brass  warming-pan,  which  formerly  shone 
like  a  setting  moon  against  the  wall  of  the 
kitchen":  — 

"  Shut  in  from  all  the  world  without, 
We  sat  the  clean-winged  hearth  about, 
Content  to  let  the  north-wind  roar 
In  baffled  rage  at  pane  and  door, 
While  the  red  logs  before  us  beat 
The  frost-line  back  with  tropic  heat; 
And  ever,  when  a  louder  blast 
Shook  beam  and  rafter  as  it  passed, 
The  merrier  up  its  roaring  draught 
The  great  throat  of  the  chimney  laughed, 
The  house-dog  on  his  paws  outspread, 
Laid  to  the  fire  his  drowsy  head, 
The  cat's  dark  silhouette  on  the  wall 
A  couchant  tiger's  seemed  to  fall ; 
And,  for  the  winter  fireside  meet, 
Between  the  andirons'  straddling  feet, 
The  mug  of  cider  simmered  slow, 
The  apples  sputtered  in  a  row, 
And,  close  at  hand,  the  basket  stood 
With  nuts  from  brown  October's  wood." 

Snow-Bound. 


52  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

John  Whittier,  the  father  of  the  poet,  is 
described  by  citizens  of  Haverhill  as  be- 
ing a  rough  but  good,  kind-hearted  man. 
He  went  by  the  soubriquet  of  "  Quaker 
Whycher."  In  "  Snow-Bound,"  we  learn 
something  of  his  Wanderjakre,  —  how  he 
ate  moose  and  samp  in  trapper's  hut  and 
Indian  camp  on  Memphremagog's  wooded 
side,  and  danced  beneath  St.  Fran9ois'  hem- 
lock-trees, and  ate  chowder  and  hake-broil 
at  the  Isle  of  Shoals.  He  was  a  sturd}r,  de- 
cisive man,  and  deeply  religious.  Although 
there  was  no  Friends'  church  in  Haverhill, 
yet  on  "First-Days"  Quaker  Whycher's 
"one-hoss  shay"  could  be  seen  wending 
toward  the  old  brown  meeting-house  in 
Amesbury,  six  miles  away. 

The  mother  has  been  alluded  to  in  Chap- 
ter I.  p.  12.  Hers  was  a  deeply  emo- 
tional and  religious  nature,  pure,  chastened, 
and  sweet,  lovable,  and  kind-hearted  to  a 
fault.  In  "Snow-Bound,"  she  tells  incidents 
of  her  girlhood  in  Somersworth  on  the  Pis- 
cataqua,  and  retells  stories  from  Quaker 
Sewell's  "  ancient  tome,"  and  old  sea-saint 
Chalkley's  Journal.  An  incident  in  Mr. 


BOYHOOD.  55 

Whittier's  "Yankee  Gypsies"  (Prose  Works, 
II.  p.  326,)  will  afford  an  indication  of  her 
kind-heartedness:  — 

"On  one  occasion,"  says  the  poet,  ??a  few 
years  ago,  on  my  return  from  the  field  at 
evening,  I  was  told  that  a  foreigner  had 
asked  for  lodgings  during  the  night,  but  that, 
influenced  by  his  dark,  repulsive  appearance, 
my  mother  had  very  reluctantly  refused  his 
request.  I  found  her  by  no  means  satisfied 
with  her  decision.  r  What  if  a  son  of  mine 
was  in  a  strange  land?'  she  inquired,  self- 
reproachfully.  Greatly  to  her  relief,  I  vol- 
unteered to  go  in  pursuit  of  the  wanderer, 
and,  taking  a  cross-path  over  the  fields,  soon 
overtook  him.  He  had  just  been  rejected  at 
the  house  of  our  nearest  neighbor,  and  was 
standing  in  a  state  of  dubious  perplexity  in 
the  street.  His  looks  quite  justified  my 
mother's  suspicions.  He  was  an  olive-com- 
plexioned,  black-bearded  Italian,  with  an  eye 
like  a  live  coal,  such  a  face  as  perchance 
looks  out  on  the  traveller  in  the  passes  of  the 
Abruzzi, —  one  of  those  bandit-visages  which 
Salvator  has  painted.  With  some  difficulty, 
I  gave  him  to  understand  my  errand,  when  he 


56  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

overwhelmed  me  with  thanks,  and  joyfully 
followed  me  back.  He  took  his  seat  with  us 
at  the  supper-table;  and  when  we  were  all 
gathered  around  the  hearth  that  cold  au- 
tumnal evening,  he  told  us,  partly  by  words, 
and  partly  by  gestures,  the  story  of  his  life 
and  misfortunes,  amused  us  with  descriptions 
of  the  grape-gatherings  and  festivals  of  his 
sunny  clime,  edified  my  mother  with  a 
recipe  for  making  bread  of  chestnuts;  and 
in  the  morning  when,  after  breakfast,  his 
dark  sullen  face  lighted  up  and  his  fierce  eye 
moistened  with  grateful  emotion  as  in  his 
own  silvery  Tuscan  accent  he  poured  out 
his  thanks,  we  marvelled  at  the  fears  which 
had  so  nearly  closed  our  doors •  against  him; 
and,  as  he  departed,  we  all  felt  that  he  had 
left  with  us  the  blessing  of  the  poor. 

"  It  was  not  often  that,  as  in  the  above  in- 
stance, my  mother's  prudence  got  the  better 
of  her  charity.  The  regular  rold  strag- 
glers' regarded  her  as  an  unfailing  friend; 
and  the  sight  of  her  plain  cap  was  to  them 
an  assurance  of  forthcoming  creature  com- 
forts." 

In  "Snow-Bound,"  too,  we  learn  that  the 


BOYHOOD-  57 

good  mother  often  stayed  her  step  to  express 
a  warm  word  of  gratitude  for  their  own  com- 
forts, and  to  hope  that  the  unfortunate  might 
be  cared  for  also.  It  is  a  facetious  saying  in 
Philadelphia  that  beggars  are  shipped  to  that 
city  from  all  parts  of  the  country  that  they 
may  share  the  never-failing  bounty  of  the 
Quakers.  However  this  may  be,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  benevolence  was  the  predominant 
trait  in  the  character  of  our  poet's  mother. 

Other  members  of  the  household  in  Whit- 
tier's  boyhood  were  his  elder  sister  Mary, 
who  died  in  1861;  Uncle  Moses  Whittier, 
who  in  1824  received  fatal  injuries  from  the 
falling  of  a  tree  which  he  was  cutting  down; 
the  poet's  younger  brother  Matthew,  who 
was  born  in  1812,  and  has  been  for  many 
years  a  resident  of  Boston, —  himself  a  ver- 
sifier, and  a  contributor  to  the  newspapers 
of  humorous  dialect  articles,  signed  "  Ethan 
Spike,  from  Hornby";  and  finally  the  aunt, 
Mercy  E.  Hussey,  the  younger  sister  Eliza- 
beth, and  occasionally  the  "  half-welcome  " 
eccentric  guest,  Harriet  Livermore. 

Elizabeth  Hussey  Whittier — the  younger 
sister  and  intimate  literary  companion  of  her 


58  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

brother,  the  poet — was  a  person  of  rare  and 
saintly  nature.  In  the  little  parlor  of  the 
Amesbury  home  there  hangs  a  crayon  sketch 
of  her.  The  face  wears  a  smile  of  unfailing 
sweetness  and  patience.  That  her  literary 
and  poetical  accomplishments  were  of  an 
unusually  high  order  is  shown  by  the  poems 
of  hers  appended  to  Mr.  Whittier's  "  Hazel 
Blossoms,"  published  after  her  death.  Her 
poem,  "  Dr.  Kane  in  Cuba,"  would  do  honor 
to  any  poet.  In  the  piece  entitled  the 
"  Wedding  Veil,"  we  have  a  hint  of  an 
early  love  transformed  by  the  death  of  its 
object  into  a  spiritual  worship  and  hope, 
nourished  in  the  still  fane  of  the  heart.  In 
the  prefatory  note  to  "  Hazel  Blossoms," 
Mr.  Whittier  says:  "I  have  ventured,  in 
compliance  with  the  desire  of  dear  friends 
of  my  beloved  sister,  Elizabeth  H.  Whittier, 
to  add  to  this  little  volume  the  few  poetical 
pieces  which  she  left  behind  her.  As  she 
was  very  distrustful  of  her  own  powers,  and 
altogether  without  ambition  for  literary 
distinction,  she  shunned  everything  like 
publicity,  and  found  far  greater  happiness 
in  generous  appreciation  of  the  gifts  of  her 
friends  llian  m  the  cultivation  of  her  own. 


BOYHOOD.  59 

Yet  it  has  always  seemed  to  me  that,  had 
her  health,  sense  of  duty  and  fitness,  and 
her  extreme  self-distrust  permitted,  she 
might  have  taken  a  high  place  among  lyr- 
ical singers.  These  poems,  with  perhaps 
two  or  three  exceptions,  afford  but  slight 
indications  of  the  inward  life  of  the  writer, 
who  had  an  almost  morbid  dread  of  spiritual 
and  intellectual  egotism,  or  of  her  tenderness 
of  sympathy,  chastened  mirthfulness,  and 
pleasant  play  of  thought  and  fancy,  when 
her  shy,  beautiful  soul  opened  like  a  flower 
in  the  warmth  of  social  communion.  In 
the  lines  on  Dr.  Kane,  her  friends  will  see 
something  of  her  fine  individuality, —  the 
rare  mingling  of  delicacy  and  intensity  of 
feeling  which  made  her  dear  to  them.  This 
little  poem  reached  Cuba  while  the  great 
explorer  lay  on  his  death-bed,  and  we  are 
told  that  he  listened  with  grateful  tears 
while  it  was  read  to  him  by  his  mother. 

"  I  am  tempted  to  say  more,  but  I  write 
as  under  the  eye  of  her  who,  while  with  us, 
shrank  with  painful  deprecation  from  the 
praise  or  mention  of  performances  which 
seemed  so  far  below  her  ideal  of  excellence. 
To  those  who  best  knew  her,  the  beloved 


60  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

circle  of  her  intimate  friends,  I  dedicate  this 
slight  memorial." 

Many  readers  of  "  Snow-Bound "  have 
doubtless  often  wondered  who  the  beauti- 
ful and  mysterious  young  woman  is  who 
is  sketched  in  such  vigorous  portraiture, — 
"the  not  unfeared,  half-welcome  guest," 
half  saint  and  half  shrew.  She  is  no  other 
than  the  religious  enthusiast  and  fanatical 
"  pilgrim  preacher,"  Harriet  Livermore,*  the 
same  who  startled 

"  On  her  desert  throne 
The  crazy  Queen  of  Lebanon 
With  claims  fantastic  as  her  own." 

By  the  "Queen  of  Lebanon"  is  meant  Lady 
Hester  Stanhope.  Harriet  Livermore  was 
the  grand-daughter  of  Hon.  Samuel  Liver- 
more,  of  Portsmouth,  N.  H.,  and  the  daugh- 
ter of  Hon.  Edward  St.  Loe  Livermore,  of 
Lowell.  She  was  born  April  14,  1788,  at 
Concord,  N.  H.  Her  misfortune  was  her 
temper,  inherited  from  her  father.  When 
Whittier  was  a  little  boy,  she  taught  needle- 
work, embroidery,  and  the  common  school 

*For  many  items  of  information  concerning  this  strange 
woman  we  are  indebted  to  the  sketch  of  her  published  by  Mis» 
Rebecca  I.  Davis,  of  East  Haverhill. 


BOYHOOD.  6 1 

branches,  in  the  little  old  brown  school-house 
in  East  Haverhill,  and  was  a  frequent  guest 
at  Farmer  Whittier's.  The  poet  thus  char- 
acterizes her:  — 

"  A  certain  pard-like,  treacherous  grace 
Swayed  the  lithe  limbs  and  dropped  the  lash, 
Lent  the  white  teeth  their  dazzling  flash ; 
And  under  low  brows,  black  with  night, 
Rayed  out  at  times  a  dangerous  light ; 
The  sharp  heat-lightnings  of  her  face 
Presaging  ill  to  him  whom  Fate 
Condemned  to  share  her  love  or  hate. 
A  woman  tropical,  intense 
In  thought  and  act,  in  soul  and  sense." 

When  a  mere  girl,  she  fell  in  love  with  a 
young  gentleman  of  East  Haverhill,  but  the 
parents  of  both  families  opposed  the  match, 
and  were  not  to  be  moved  by  her  honeyed 
words  of  persuasion  or  by  her  little  gifts. 
The  poet  says  she  often  visited  at  his  father's 
home,  "and  had  at  one  time  an  idea  of  be- 
coming a  member  of  the  Society  of  Friends; 
but  an  unlucky  outburst  of  rage,  resulting  in 
a  blow,  at  a  Friend's  house  in  Amesbury,  did 
not  encourage  us  to  seek  her  membership." 
She  embraced  the  Methodist  Perfectionist 
doctrine,  and  one  day  strenuously  main- 
tained that  she  was  incapable  of  sinning. 


62  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

But  a  few  minutes  afterward  she  burst 
out  into  a  violent  passion  about  something 
or  other.  Her  opponent  could  only  say  to 
her,  "Christian,  thou  hast  lost  thy  roll." 
She  became  an  itinerant  preacher,  and  spoke 
in  the  meetings  of  various  sects  in  different 
parts  of  the  country.  She  made  three  voy- 
ages to  Jerusalem.  Says  one:  "At  one 
time  we  find  her  in  Egypt,  giving  our  late 
consul,  Mr.  Thayer,  a  world  of  trouble  from 
her  peculiar  notions.  At  another  we  see 
her  amid  the  gray  olive  slopes  of  Jerusalem, 
demanding,  not  begging,  money  for  the 
Great  King  [God].  And  once  when  an 
American,  fresh  from  home,  during  the  late 
rebellion,  offered  her  a  handful  of  green- 
backs, she  threw  them  away  with  disdain, 
saying,  '  The  Great  King  will  only  have 
gold.'  She  once  climbed  the  sides  of  Mt. 
Libanus,  and  visited  Lady  Stanhope, —  that 
eccentric  sister  of  the  younger  Pitt,  who 
married  a  sheik  of  the  mountains, —  and  thus 
had  a  fine  opportunity  of  securing  the  finest 
steeds  of  the  Orient.  Going  to  the  stable 
one  day,  Lady  Hester  pointed  out  to  Harriet 
Livermore  two  very  fine  horses,  with  pecu- 
liar marks,  but  differing  in  color.  'That 


BOYHOOD.  63 

one,'  said  Lady  Hester,  'the  Great  King 
when  he  comes  will  ride,  and  the  other  I 
will  ride  in  company  with  him.'  There- 
upon Miss  Livermore  gave  a  most  emphatic 
fno!'  declaring  with  foreknowledge  and 
aplomb  that ?  the  Great  King  will  ride  this 
horse,  and  it  is  I,  as  his  bride,  who  will  ride 
upon  the  other  at  his  second  coming.'  It  is 
said  she  carried  her  point  with  Lady  Hes- 
ter, overpowering  her  with  her  fluency  and 
assertion." 

To    pass    now  to    the    boy-poet   himself. 
An   old  friend    and    schoolmate    of  his,  in 
Haverhill,  told  the  author  that  Whittier,  in- 
stead of  doing  sums  on  his  slate  at  school, 
was  always  writing  verses,  even  when  a  lit- 
tle lad.     His  first  schoolmaster  was  Joshua 
Coffin,  afterward  the  historian  of  Newbury. 
Another  master  of  his  was  named  Emerson. 
To  Coffin,  Whittier  has  written  a  poetical 
epistle,  in  which  he  says: — 
"  I,  the  urchin  unto  whom, 
In  that  smoked  and  dingy  room, 
Where  the  district  gave  thee  rule 
O'er  its  ragged  winter  school, 
Thou  didst  teach  the  mysteries 
Of  those  weary  A,  B,  C's, — 


64  JQHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER, 

Where,  to  fill  the  every  pause 
Of  thy  wise  and  learned  saws, 
Through  the  cracked  and  crazy  wall 
Came  the  cradle-rock  and  squall, 
And  the  goodman's  voice,  at  strife 
With  his  shrill  and  tipsy  wife,  — 
Luring  us  by  stories  old, 
With  a  comic  unction  told, 
More  than  by  the  eloquence 
Of  terse  birchen  arguments 
(Doubtful  gain,  I  fear),  to  look 
With  complacence  on  a  book!  — 

I, —  the  man  of  middle  years, 
In  whose  sable  locks  appears 
Many  a  warning  fleck  of  gray, — 
Looking  back  to  that  far  day, 
And  thy  primal  lessons,  feel 
Grateful  smiles  my  lips  unseal,"  etc. 

In  "School    Days"  he   gives   us  another 
and  a  pleasanter  picture: — 

"  Still  sits  the  school-house  by  the  road,* 

A  ragged  beggar  sunning ; 
Around  it  still  the  sumachs  grow, 
And  blackberry-vines  are  running. 

Within,  the  master's  desk  is  seen, 

Deep  scarred  by  raps  official ; 
The  warping  floor,  the  battered  seats, 

The  jack-knife's  carved  initial ; 

*The  old  brown   school-house  is  now  no   more,  having 
been  removed  to  make  room  for  a  reservoir. 


BOYHOOD.  67 

The  charcoal  frescos  on  its  wall ; 

Its  door's  worn  sill,  betraying 
The  feet  that,  creeping  slow  to  schoo* 

Went  storming  out  to  playing ! 

Long  years  ago  a  winter  sun 

Shone  over  it  at  setting; 
Lit  up  its  western  window-panes, 

And  low  eaves'  icy  fretting. 

It  touched  the  tangled  golden  curls. 

And  brown  eyes  full  of  grieving, 
Of  one  who  still  her  steps  delayed 

When  all  the  school  were  leaving. 

For  near  her  stood  the  little  boy 

Her  childish  favor  singled  : 
His  cap  pulled  low  upon  a  face 

Where  pride  and  shame  were  mingled. 

Pushing  with  restless  feet  the  snow 
To  right  and  left,  he  lingered ;  — 

As  restlessly  her  tiny  hands 

The  blue-checked  apron  fingered. 

He  saw  her  lift  her  eyes ;  he  felt 

The  soft  hand's  light  caressing, 
And  heard  the  tremble  of  her  voice, 

As  if  a  fault  confessing. 

'  I  'm  sorry  that  I  spelt  the  word : 

I  hate  to  go  above  you, 
Because,'  —  the  brown  eyes  lower  fell, — 
'  Because,  you  see,  I  love  you ! ' " 


68  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

It  is  probable  that  "  My  Playmate  "  is  in 
memory  of  this  same  sweet  little  lady:  — 

"  O  playmate  in  the  golden  time ! 

Our  mossy  seat  is  green, 
Its  fringing  violets  blossom  yet, 
The  old  trees  o'er  it  lean. 

The  winds  so  sweet  with  birch  and  fern 

A  sweeter  memory  blow; 
And  there  in  spring  the  veeries  sing 

The  song  of  long  ago. 

And  still  the  pines  of  Ramoth  Wood 

Are  moaning  like  the  sea, — 
The  moaning  of  the  sea  of  change 

Between  myself  and  thee  !  " 

Elsewhere  in  the  poem  we  are  told  that 
the  little  maiden  went  away  forever  to  the 
South:  — 

"  She  lives  where  all  the  golden  year 

Her  summer  roses  blow ; 

The  dusky  children  of  the  sun 

Before  her  come  and  go. 

There  haply  with  her  jewelled  hands 
She  smooths  her  silken  gown, — 

No  more  the  homespun  lap  wherein 
I  shook  the  walnuts  down." 

We  also  learn  from  the  poem  that  he  was 
the  boy  "who  fed  her  father's  kine."  What 


BOYHOOD.  69 

a  pretty  little  romance! — and,  let  us  hope, 
not  too  sad  a  one.  Shall  we  have  one  more 
stanza  about  this  lovely  little  school-idyl? 
It  is  from  "Memories":  — 

"  I  hear  again  thv  low  replies, 

I  feel  thy  ar;n  within  my  own, 
And  timidly  again  uprise 
The  fringed  lids  of  hazel  eyes, 

With  soft  brown  tresses  overblown. 
Ah !  memories  of  sweet  summer  eves, 

Of  moonlit  wave  and  willowy  way, 
Of  stars  and  flowers,  and  dewy  leaves, 

And  smiles  and  tones  more  dear  than  they ! " 

The  reading  material  that  found  its  way 
to  Farmer  Whittier's  house  consisted  of  the 
almanac,  the  weekly  village  paper,  and 
"scarce  a  score"  of  books  and  pamphlets, 
among  them  Lindley  Murray's  "Reader": — 

"  One  harmless  novel,  mostly  hid 
From  younger  eyes,  a  book  forbid, 
And  poetry  (or  good  or  bad, 
A  single  book  was  all  we  had), 
Where  Ellwood's  meek,  drab-skirted  Muse, 
A  stranger  to  the  heathen  Nine, 
Sang,  with  a  somewhat  nasal  whine, 
The  wars  of  David  and  the  Jews." 

Knowing,  as  we  do,  the  great  influence 
exerted  upon  our  mental  development  by 


7°  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

the  books  we  read  as  children,  and  knowing 
that  a  rural  life,  such  as  Whittier's  has  been, 
is  especially  conducive  to  tenacity  of  early 
customs,  it  becomes  important  to  know 
what  the  books  were  that  first  formed  his 
style  and  colored  his  thought.  It  seems 
that  Ellwood's  "Davideis;  or  the  Life  of. 
David,  King  of  Israel,"  was  one  of  these. 
The  book  was  published  in  1711,  and  had 
a  sale  of  five  or  more  editions.  Ellwood, 
born  in  1639,  early  adopted  the  then  new 
doctrines  of  George  Fox.  He  has  written 
a  quaint  and  pictorial  autobiography,  some- 
what like  that  of  Bunyan  or  that  of  Fox. 
In  1662  he  was  for  six  weeks  reader  to 
Milton,  who  was  then  blind,  and  living  in 
London,  in  Jewin  Street.  It  was  he  who 
first  suggested  to  Milton  that  he  should 
write  "Paradise  Regained."* 

*  This  was  in  1665,  when  Milton  was  living  at  Giles-Chal- 
font.  Ellwood  says :  "After  some  common  discourse  had 
passed  between  us,  he  called  for  a  manuscript  of  his,  which 
he  delivered  to  me,  bidding  me  take  it  home  with  me  and 
read  it  at  my  leisure ;  and,  when  I  had  done  so,  return  it  to 
him  with  my  judgment  thereon."  It  was  "  Paradise  Lost." 
When  Ellwood  returned  it,  and  was  asked  his  opinion,  he 
gave  it,  and  added  :  "  '  Thou  hast  said  much  here  of  "  Para- 
dise Lost,"  but  what  hast  thou  to  say  of  "  Paradise  Found  "?' 
He  made  no  answer,  but  sat  some  time  in  a  muse." 


BOYHOOD.  71 

An  idea  of  the  execrable  nature  of  his 
versification  may  be  obtained  from  a  few 
specimens.  Upon  the  passing  of  a  severe 
law  against  Quakers,  he  relieves  his  mind 
in  this  wise:  — 

"  Awake,  awake,  O  arm  o'  th'  Lord,  awake ! 

Thy  sword  up  take ; 
Cast  what  would  thine  forgetful  of  thee  make, 

Into  the  lake. 

Awake,  I  pray,  O  mighty  Jah !  awake, 
Make  all  the  world  before  thy  presence  quake, 
Not  only  earth,  but  heaven  also  shake." 

Another  poem,  entitled  "  A  Song  of  the 
Mercies  and  Deliverances  of  the  Lord," 
begins  thus:  — 

"  Had  not  the  Lord  been  on  our  side, 

May  Israel  now  say, 
We  were  not  able  to  abide 
The  trials  of  that  day : 

When  men  did  up  against  us  rise, 

With  fury,  rage,  and  spite, 
Hoping  to  catch  us  by  surprise, 

Or  run  us  down  by  night." 

An  opponent's  poetry  jj  lashed  by  Ell- 
wood  in  such  beautiful  uutnzas  as  the  foi~ 
lowing:  — 


72  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 


so  dull,  so  rough,  so  void  of  grace*, 
Where  symphony  and  cadence  have  no  place  ; 
So  full  of  chasmes  stuck  with  prosie  pegs, 
Whereon  his  tired  Muse  might  rest  her  legs, 
(Not  having  wings)  and  take  new  breath,  that  then 
She  might  with  much  adoe  hop  on  again." 

A  striking  peculiarity  of  Whittier's  poetry 
•  is  the  exceedingly  small  range  of  his  rhymes 
"  and  metres.  He  is  especially  fond  of  the 
four-foot  iambic  line,  and  likes  to  rhyme 
successive  or  alternate  lines  in  a  wofully 
monotonous  and  see-saw  manner.  These 
are  the  characteristics  of  much  of  the  lyric 
poetry  of  a  hundred  years  ago,  and  especially 
distinguish  the  verses  of  Burns  and  Ellwood, 
—  the  first  poets  the  boy  Whittier  read. 
Burns,  especially,  he  learned  by  heart,  and 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  Ayrshire 
ploughman  gave  to  the  mind  of  his  brother- 
ploughman  of  Essex  its  life-direction  and 
coloring,  —  as  respects  the  swing  of  rhythm 
and  rhyme  at  least.  Indeed,  we  shall 
presently  find  him  contributing  to  the 
Haverhill  Gazette  verses  in  the  Scotch  dia- 
lect. His  introduction  to  the  poetry  of 
Burns  was  in  this  wise:  He  was  one  after- 
noon gathering  in  hay  on  the  farm,  when  by 


BOYHOOD.  73 

good  hap  a  wandering  peddler  stopped  and 
took  from  his  pack  a  copy  of  Burns,  which 
was  eagerly  purchased  by  the  poetical 
Quaker  boy.  Alluding  to  the  circumstance 
afterward  in  his  poem,  "Burns,"  he  says: — 

"  How  oft  that  day,  with  fond  delay, 

I  sought  the  maple's  shadow, 
And  sang  with  Burns  the  hours  away, 
Forgetful  of  the  meadow! 

Bees  hummed,  birds  twittered,  overhead 

I  heard  the  squirrels  leaping, 
The  good  dog  listened  while  I  read, 

And  wagged  his  tail  in  keeping." 

By  the  reading  of  Burns  his  eyes  were 
opened,  he  says,  to  the  beauty  in  homely 
things.  In  familiar  and  humble  things  he 
found  the  "tender  idyls  of  the  heart." 
But  the  wanton  and  the  ribald  lines  of  the 
Scotch  poet  found  no  entrance  to  his  pure 
mind.* 

He  had  other  relishing  tastes  of  the  rich 
dialect  of  heather  poetry.  In  "Yankee 
Gypsies  "  he  says:  "  One  day  we  had  a  call 
from  a  ? pawky  auld  carle'  of  a  wandering 
Scotchman.  To  him  I  owe  my  first  intro- 
duction to  the  songs  of  Burns.  After  eating 

*  See  Appendix  II. 


74  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

his  bread  and  cheese  and  drinking  his  .nug 
of  cider,  he  gave  us  Bonny  Doon,  Highland 
Mary,  and  Auld  Lang  Syne.  He  had  a  lich 
full  voice,  and  entered  heartily  into  the 
spirit  of  his  lyrics.  I  have  since  listened  to 
the  same  melodies  from  the  lips  of  Demp- 
ster (than  whom  the  Scottish  bard  has  had 
no  sweeter  or  truer  interpreter) ;  but  the 
skilful  performance  of  the  artist  lacked  the 
novel  charm  of  the  gaberlunzie's  singing  in 
the  old  farm-house  kitchen." 

A  page  or  two  of  these  personal  recollec- 
tions of  the  poet  will  serve  to  fill  out  the 
picture  of  his  boyhood  life;  and,  at  the  same 
time,  give  the  reader  a  taste  of  his  often 
charming  prose  pieces: — 

"The  advent  of  wandering  beggars,  or 
'old  stragglers,'  as  we  were  wont  to  call 
them,  was  an  event  of  no  ordinary  interest 
in  the  generally  monotonous  quietude  of  out 
farm  life.  Many  of  them  were  -vvell  known ; 
they  had  their  periodiral  revolutions  and 
transits;  we  could  calculate  them  like 
eclipses  or  new  moons.  Some  were  sturdy 
knaves,  fat  and  saucy;  and  whenever  they 
ascertained  that  the  '  men-folks '  were  ab- 


BOYHOOD.  75 

sent  would  order  provisions  and  cider  like 
men  who  expected  to  pay  for  them,  seating 
themselves  at  the  hearth  or  table  with  the 
air  of  FalstafF, — '  Shall  I  not  take  mine  ease 
in  mine  own  inn?'  Others  poor,  pale, 
patient,  like  Sterne's  monk,  came  creeping 
up  to  the  door,  hat  in  hand,  standing  there 
in  their  gray  wretchedness,  with  a  look  of 
heart-break  and  forlornness  which  was  never 
without  its  effect  on  our  juvenile  sensibilities. 
At  times,  however,  we  experienced  a  slight 
revulsion  of  feeling  when  even  these  hum- 
blest children  of  sorrow  somewhat  petu- 
lantly rejected  our  proffered  bread  and 
cheese,  and  demanded  instead  a  glass  of 
cider. 

"  One  —  I  think  I  see  him  now,  grim, 
gaunt,  and  ghastly,  working  his  way  up  to 
our  door  —  used  to  gather  herbs  by  the 
wayside,  and  call  himself  doctor.  He  was 
bearded  like  a  he-goat,  and  used  to  counter- 
feit lameness,  yet  when  he  supposed  himself 
alone  would  travel  on  lustily,  as  if  walking 
for  a  wager.  At  length,  as  if  in  punishment 
for  his  deceit,  he  met  with  an  accident  in 
his  rambles,  and  became  lame  in  earnest, 


76  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

hobbling  ever  after  with  difficulty  on  his 
gnarled  crutches.  Another  used  to  go 
stooping,  like  Bunyan's  pilgrim,  under  a 
pack  made  of  aa  old  bed-sacking,  stuffed 
out  into  most  plethoric  dimensions,  totter- 
ing on  a  pair  of  small,  meagre  legs,  and 
peering  out  with  his  wild,  hairy  face  from 
under  his  burden,  like  a  big-bodied  spider. 
That  r  man  with  the  pack '  always  inspired 
me  with  awe  and  reverence.  Huge,  almost 
sublime  in  its  tense  rotundity,  the  father 
of  all  packs,  never  laid  aside  and  never 
opened,  what  might  there  not  be  within  it! 
With  what  flesh-creeping  curiosity  I  used  to 
walk  round  about  it  at  a  safe  distance,  half 
expecting  to  see  its  striped  covering  stirred 
by  the  motions  of  a  mysterious  life,  or  that 
some  evil  monster  would  leap  out  of  it,  like 
robbers  from  Ali  Baba's  jars,  or  armed  men 
from  the  Trojan  horse !  " 

"  Twice  a  year,  usually  in  the  spring  and 
autumn,  we  were  honored  with  a  call  from 
Jonathan  Plummer,  maker  of  verses,  peddler 
and  poet,  physician  and  parson, —  a  Yankee 
Troubadour, —  first  and  last  minstrel  of  the 
valley  of  the  Merrimack,  encircled  to  my 


BOYHOOD.  77 

wondering  eyes  with  the  very  nimbus  of 
immortality.  He  brought  with  him  pins, 
needles,  tape,  and  cotton  thread  for  my 
mother;  jack-knives,  razors,  and  soap  for 
my  father;  and  verses  of  his  own  compos- 
ing, coarsely  printed  and  illustrated  with 
rude  woodcuts,  for  the  delectation  of  the 
younger  branches  of  the  family.  No  love- 
sick youth  could  drown  himself,  no  deserted 
maiden  bewail  the  moon,  no  rogue  mount 
the  gallows,  without  fitting  memorial  in 
Plummer's  verses.  Earthquakes,  fires,  fevers 
and  shipwrecks  he  regarded  as  personal 
favors  from  Providence,  furnishing  the  raw 
material  of  song  and  ballad.  Welcome 
to  us  in  our  country  seclusion  as  Autolycus 
to  the  clown  in  Winter's  Tale,  we  listened 
with  infinite  satisfaction  to  his  readings  of 
his  own  verses,  or  to  his  ready  improvisa- 
tion upon  some  domestic  incident  or  topic 
suggested  by  his  auditors.  When  once 
fairly  over  the  difficulties  at  the  outset  of  a 
new  subject,  his  rhymes  flowed  freely,  ?  as 
if  he  had  eaten  ballads,  and  all  men's  ears 
grew  to  his  tunes.'  His  productions  an- 
swered, as  nearly  as  I  can  remember,  to 
Shakespeare's  description  of  a  proper  ballad, 


7§  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

— f  doleful  matter  merrily  set  down,  or  a 
very  pleasant  theme  sung  lamentably.'  He 
was  scrupulously  conscientious,  devout,  in- 
clined to  theological  disquisitions,  and  withal 
mighty  in  Scripture.  He  was  thoroughly 
independent;  flattered  nobody,  cared  for 
nobody,  trusted  nobody.  When  invited  to 
sit  down  at  our  dinner-table,  he  invariably 
took  the  precaution  to  place  his  basket  of 
valuables  between  his  legs  for  safe-keeping. 
r  Never  mind  thy  basket,  Jonathan,'  said  my 
father,  ?  we  shan't  steal  thy  verses.'  f  I'm 
not  sure  of  that,'  returned  the  suspicious 
guest.  ?  It  is  written,  Trust  ye  not  in  any 
brother.' " 

"Thou,  too,  O  Parson  B.,— with  thy  pale 
student's  brow  and  thy  rubicund  nose,  with 
thy  rusty  and  tattered  black  coat,  overswept 
by  white  flowing  locks,  with  thy  professional 
white  neckcloth  scrupulously  preserved, 
when  even  a  shirt  to  thy  back  was  problem- 
atical,—  art  by  no  means  to  be  overlooked 
in  the  muster-roll  of  vagrant  gentlemen  pos- 
sessing the  entree  of  our  farm-house.  Well 
do  we  remember  with  what  grave  and  dig- 
nified courtesy  he  used  to  step  over  its 


BOYHOOD.  79 

threshold,  saluting  its  inmates  with  the  same 
air  of  gracious  condescension  and  patronage 
with  which  in  better  days  he  had  delighted 
the  hearts  of  his  parishioners.  Poor  old 
man!  He  had  once  been  the  admired  and 
almost  worshipped  minister  of  the  largest 
church  in  the  town,  where  he  afterwards 
found  support  in  the  winter  season  as  a 
pauper.  He  had  early  fallen  into  intemper- 
ate habits,  and  at  the  age  of  threescore  and 
ten,  when  I  remember  him,  he  was  only 
sober  when  he  lacked  the  means  of  being 
otherwise." 

Among  the  books  read  by  Whittier  when 
a  boy  we  must  number  the  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress"  of  Bunyan. 

In  his  "  Supernaturalism  of  New  England  " 
the  poet  says:  "  How  hardly  effaced  are  the 
impressions  of  childhood!  Even  at  this  day, 
at  the  mention  of  the  Evil  Angel,  an  image 
rises  before  me  like  that  with  which  I  used 
especially  to  horrify  myself  in  an  old  copy 
of  ?  Pilgrim's  Progress.'  Horned,  hoofed, 
scaly,  and  fire-breathing,  his  caudal  extremity 
twisted  tight  with  rage,  I  remember  him 
illustrating  the  tremendous  encounter  of 


SO  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

Christian  in  the  valley  where  'Apollyon 
straddled  over  the  whole  breadth  of  the 
way.'  There  was  another  print  of  the 
enemy  which  made  no  slight  impression 
upon  me;  it  was  the  frontispiece  of  an  old, 
smoked,  snuff-stained  pamphlet  (the  prop- 
erty of  an  elderly  lady,  who  had  a  fine  col- 
lection of  similar  wonders,  wherewith  she 
was  kind  enough  to  edify  her  young  visit- 
ors), containing  a  solemn  account  of  the  fate 
of  a  wicked  dancing  party  in  New  Jersey, 
whose  irreverent  declaration  that  they  would 
have  a  fiddler,  if  they  had  to  send  to  the 
lower  regions  after  him,  called  up  the  fiend 
himself,  who  forthwith  commenced  playing, 
while  the  company  danced  to  the  music 
incessantly,  without  the  power  to  suspend 
their  exercise  until  their  feet  and  legs  were 
worn  off  to  the  knees!  The  rude  wood- 
cut represented  the  Demon  Fiddler  and  his 
agonized  companions  literally  stumping  it 
up  and  down  in  r  cotillions,  jigs,  strathspeys, 
and  reels.'" 

So  grew  up  the  Quaker  farmer's  son, 
drinking  eagerly  in  such  -knowledge  as  he 
could,  and  receiving  those  impressions  of 


BOYHOOD.  8 1 

nature  and  home-life  which  he  was  after- 
ward to  embody  in  his  popular  lyrics  and 
idyls.  Above  all,  his  home  education  satu- 
rated his  mind  with  religious  and  moral 
earnestness.  In  the  second  part  of  this  vol- 
ume will  be  given  some  remarks  on  Quaker 
life  in  America,  and  an  analysis  of  the 
blended  influence  of  Quakerism  and  Puri- 
tanism upon  the  development  of  Whittier's 
genius.  Enough  has  been  said  to  show  that 
the  surroundings  of  his  early  life  were  of 
the  plainest  and  simplest  character,  and  not 
different  from  those  of  a  thousand  other 
secluded  New  England  farms  of  the  period. 
We  are  now  to  follow  the  shy  young  poet 
out  into  the  world.  He  is  nineteen  years  of 
age.  The  circle  of  his  experiences  begins 
to  widen  outward;  manhood  is  dawning; 
the  village  paper  has  taught  him  that  there 
are  men  beyond  the  mountains.  He  thirsts 
for  individuality, —  to  know  his  powers,  to 
cast  the  horoscope  of  his  future,  and  see  if 
the  consciousness  within  him  of  unusual  gifts 
be  a  trustworthy  one.  To  begin  with,  he 
will  write  a  poem  for  "  our  weekly  paper." 
Accordingly  one  day  in  1826  the  following 
poem,  written  in  blue  ink  on  coarse  paper, 


82  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.      ' 

was  slipped  by  the  postman  under  the  door 
of  the  office  of  the  Free  Press,  in  Newbury- 
port, —  a  short-lived  paper,  then  recently 
started  by  young  William  Lloyd  Garrison, 
and  subscribed  for  by  Farmer  Whittier. 

The  poem  is  the  first  ever  published  by 
the  poet,  and  is  his  earliest  known  produc- 
tion.* The  manuscript  of  it  is  now  in  the 
possession  of  Whittier's  kinsman,  Mr.  S.  T. 
Pickard,  associate  editor  of  the  Portland 
Transcript,  in  which  journal  it  was  repub- 
lished  November  27,  1880:  — 

THE   DEITY. 

The  Prophet  stood 

On  the  high  mount  and  saw  the  tempest-cloud 
Pour  the  fierce  whirlwind  from  its  reservoir 
Of  congregated  gloom.     The  mountain  oak 
Torn  from  the  earth  heaved  high  its  roots  where  once 
Its  branches  waved.     The  fir-tree's  shapely  form  • 
Smote  by  the  tempest  lashed  the  mountain  side ; 
Yet,  calm  in  conscious  purity,  the  seer 
Beheld  the  awful  devastation,  for 
The  Eternal  Spirit  moved  not  in  the  storm. 

The  tempest  ceased.     The  caverned  earthquake  burst 
Forth  from  its  prison,  and  the  mountain  rocked 
Even  to  its  base  :  The  topmost  crags  were  thrown 
With  fearful  crashing  down  its  shuddering  slopes. 
Unawed  the  Prophet  saw  and  heard  :  He  felt 
Not  in  the  earthquake  moved  the  God  of  Heaven. 
*  See  note  on  p.  301. 


BOYHOOD.  83 

The  murmur  died  away,  and  from  the  height, 
Torn  by  the  storm  and  shattered  by  the  shock, 
Rose  far  and  clear  a  pyramid  of  flame, 
Mighty  and  vast !     The  startled  mountain  deer 
Shrank  from  its  glare  and  cowered  beneath  the  shade  : 
The  wild  fowl  shrieked  ;  yet  even  then  the  seer 
Untrembling  stood  and  marked  the  fearful  glow  — 
For  Israel's  God  came  not  within  the  flame. 

The  fiery  beacon  sank.     A  still  small  voice 
Now  caught  the  Prophet's  ear.     Its  awful  tone, 
Unlike  to  human  sound,  at  once  conveyed 
Deep  awe  and  reverence  to  his  pious  heart. 
Then  bowed  the  holy  man ;  his  face  he  veiled 
Within  his  mantle,  and  in  meekness  owned 
The  presence  of  his  God,  discovered  not  in 
The  storm,  the  earthquake,  or  the  mighty  flame, 
But  in  the  still  small  whisper  to  his  soul. 

It  is  characteristic  of  the  man  that  his 
first  poem  should  be  of  a  religious  nature. 
There  is  grandeur  and  majesty  in  the  poem. 
The  rhetoric  is  juvenile,  but  the  diction  is 
strong,  nervous,  and  intense,  and  the  general 
impression  made  upon  the  mind  is  one  of  har- 
mony and  solemn  stateliness,  not  unlike  that 
of  "Thanatopsis,"  composed  by  Bryant  when 
he  was  about  the  same  age  as  was  Whittier 
when  he  wrote  "  The  Deity."  It  was  prob- 
ably owing  to  its  anonymity  that  the  first 
impulse  of  the  editor  was  to  throw  it  into 


84  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

the  waste-basket.  But  as  he  glanced  over 
the  sheet  his  attention  was  caught:  he  read 
it,  and  some  weeks  afterward  published  it 
in  the  poet's  corner.  But  in  the  interval  of 
waiting  the  boy's  heart  sank  within  him. 
Every  writer  knows  what  he  suffered.  Did 
we  not  all  expect  that  first  precious  produc- 
tion of  ours  to  fairly  set  the  editor  wild  with 
enthusiasm,  so  that  nothing  short  of  death  or 
apoplexy  could  prevent  him  from  assigning 
it  the  most  conspicuous  position  in  the  very 
next  issue  of  his  paper? 

But  one  day,  as  our  boy-poet  was  mend- 
ing a  stone  fence  along  the  highway,  in  com- 
pany with  Uncle  Moses,  along  came  the 
postman  on  horseback,  with  his  leathern  bag 
of  mail,  like  a  magician  with  a  Fortuna- 
tus'  purse;  and,  to  save  the  trouble  of  call- 
ing at  the  house,  he  tossed  a  paper  to  young 
Whittier.  He  opened  it  with  eager  fingers, 
and  behold!  his  poem  in  the  place  of  honor. 
He  says  that  he  was  so  dumfounded  and 
dazed  by  the  event  that  he  could  not  read  a 
word,  but  stood  there  staring  at  the  paper 
until  his  uncle  chided  him  for  loitering,  and 
so  recalled  him  to  his  senses.  Elated  by 
his  success,  he  of  course  sent  other  poems 


BOYHOOD.  85 

to  the  Free  Press.  They  attracted  the  at- 
tention of  Garrison  so  strongly  that  he  in- 
quired of  the  postman  who  it  was  that  was 
sending  him  contributions  from  East  Haver- 
hill.  The  postman  said  that  it  was  a 
"farmer's  son  named  Whittier."  Garrison 
decided  to  ride  over  on  horseback,  a  distance 
of  fifteen  miles,  and  see  his  contributor. 
When  he  reached  the  farm,  Whittier  was  at 
work  in  the  field,  and  when  told  that  there 
was  a  gentleman  at  the  house  who  wanted 
to  see  him,  he  felt  very  much  like  "break- 
ing for  the  brush,"  no  one  having  ever  called 
on  him  in  that  way  before.  However,  he 
slipped  in  at  the  back  door,  made  his  toilet, 
and  met  his  visitor,  who  told  him  that  he 
had  power  as  a  writer,  and  urged  him  to 
improve  his  talents.  The  father  came  in 
during  the  conversation,  and  asked  young 
Garrison  not  to  put  such  ideas  into  the  mind 
of  his  son,  as  they  would  only  unfit  him  for 
his  home  duties.  But,  fortunately,  it  was  too 
late:  the  spark  of  ambition  had  been  fanned 
into  a  flame.  Years  afterward,  in  an  in- 
troduction to  Oliver  Johnson's  "William 
Lloyd  Garrison  and  his  Times,"  Mr. 
Whittier  said:  "My  acquaintance  with  him 


86          JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

[Garrison]  commenced  in  boyhood.  My 
father  was  a  subscriber  to  his  first  paper, 
the  Free  Press,  and  the  humanitarian  tone 
of  his  editorials  awakened  a  deep  interest 
in  our  little  household,  which  was  increased 
by  a  visit  he  made  us.  When  he  after- 
wards edited  the  Journal  of  the  Times,  at 
Bennington,  Vt.,  I  ventured  to  write  him 
a  letter  of  encouragement  and  sympathy, 
urging  him  to  continue  his  labors  against 
slavery,  and  assuring  him  that  he  could  do 
great  things."  Indeed,  the  acquaintance 
thus  begun  ripened  into  the  most  intimate 
friendship  and  mutual  respect.  Mr.  Whit- 
tier  told  the  writer  that  when  he  went  to 
Boston,  in  the  winter  of  1828-29,  he  and 
Garrison  roomed  and  boarded  at  the  same 
house.  Mr.  Whittier  frequently  contrib- 
uted to  the  Liberator,  and  was  for  a  quarter 
of  a  century  associated  with  Garrison  in 
anti-slaver}-  labors. 

Before  we  pass  with  our  young  Quaker 
from  the  farm  to  the  world  at  large,  let  us 
correct  an  erroneous  statement  that  has  been 
made  about  him.  It  has  been  said  that  he 
worked  at  the  trade  of  shoemakin£  when  a 


BOYHOOD.  87 

boy.  The  truth  is  that  almost  every  farmer 
in  those  days  was  accustomed  to  do  a  little 
cobbling  of  his  own,  and  what  shoemaker's 
work  Whittier  performed  was  done  by  him 
solely  as  an  amateur  in  his  father's  house. 

In  the  year  of  his  debut  as  a  poet  (1826),  j 
he  being  then  nineteen  years  of  age,  Whit- 
tier  began  attending  the  Haverhill  Acad- 
emy, or  Latin  School.  Whether  his  parents 
were  influenced  to  take  this  step  for  his 
advantage  by  the  visit  of  the  editor  Garrison, 
and  by  his  evident  taste  for  learning,  is  not 
positively  known,  but  it  is  quite  possible  that 
such  was  the  case.  In  1827  he  read  an  orig- 
inal ode  at  the  dedication  of  the  new  Acad- 
emy. The  building  is  still  standing  on 
Winter  Street.  While  at  the  Academy 
he  read  history  very  thoroughly,  and  his 
writings  show  that  it  has  always  been  a 
favorite  study  with  him.  He  also  contrib- 
uted poems  at  this  time  to  the  Haverhill 
Gazette.  Many  of  them  were  in  the  Scotch 
dialect:  it  would  be  interesting  to  see  a 
few  of  these;  but  unfortunately  no  file  of  the 
Gazette  for  those  years  can  be  found.  A 
friendly  rival  in  the  writing  of  Scotch  poems 


88  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

was  good  Robert  Dinsmore,  the  "Farmer 
Poet  of  Windham,"  as  Whittier  calls  him.  A 
few  specimens  of  Farmer  Dinsmore's  verse 
have  been  preserved.  Take  this  on  "The 
Sparrow"  :  — 

"  Poor  innocent  and  hapless  Sparrow ! 
Why  should  my  moul-board  gie  thee  sorrow  ? 
This  day  thou'll  chirp,  and  mourn  the  morrow 

Wi'  anxious  breast; 
The  plough  has  turned  the  mould'ring  furrow 

Deep  o'er  thy  nest! 

Just  i'  the  middle  o'  the  hill 

Thy  nest  was  placed  wi'  curious  skill, 

There  I  espied  thy  little  bill 

Beneath  the  shade. 
In  that  sweet  bower,  secure  frae  ill, 

Thine  eggs  were  laid. 

Five  corns  o'  maize  had  there  been  drappit, 
An'  through  the  stalks  thy  head  was  pappit, 
The  drawing  nowt  could  na  be  stappit 

I  quickly  foun', 
Syne  frae  thy  cozie  nest  thou  happit, 

Wild  fluttering  roun'. 

The  sklentin  stane  beguiled  the  sheer, 
In  vain  I  tried  the  plough  to  steer, 
A  wee  bit  stumpie  i'  the  rear 

Cam  'tween  my  legs, 
An'  to  the  jee-side  gart  me  veer 

An'  crush  thine  eggs." 


BOYHOOD.  89 

The  following  elegiac  stanza,  written  by 
honest  Robert  on  the  occasion  of  the  death 
of  his  wife,  is  irresistibly  ludicrous: — 

"No  more  may  I  the  Spring  Brook  trace, 
No  more  with  sorrow  view  the  place 

Where  Mary's  wash-tub  stood; 
No  more  may  wander  there  alone, 
And  lean  upon  the  mossy  stone, 

Where  once  she  piled  her  wood. 
'T  was  there  she  bleached  her  linen  cloth, 

By  yonder  bass-wood  tree ; 
From  that  sweet  stream  she  made  her  broth, 

Her  pudding  and  her  tea." 

Mr.  Whittier  says  that  the  last  time  he 
saw  Robert,  "Threescore  years  and  ten,  to 
use  his  own  words, 

'  Hung  o'er  his  back, 
And  bent  him  like  a  muckle  pack,' 

yet  he  still  stood  stoutly  and  sturdily  in  his 
thick  shoes  of  cowhide,  like  one  accustomed 
to  tread  independently  the  soil  of  his  own 
acres,  —  his  broad,  honest  face  seamed  by 
care  and  darkened  by  exposure  to  all  the 
'airts  that  blow,'  and  his  white  hair  flowing 
in  patriarchal  glory  beneath  his  felt  hat. 
A  genial,  jovial,  large-hearted  old  man, 


9°  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

simple    as    a   child,    and    betraying    neither 
in  look  nor  manner  that  he  was  accustomed 

to 

'  Feed  on  thoughts  which  voluntary  move 
Harmonious  numbers.' " 


EDITOR  AND  AUTHOR.  9! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

EDITOR  AND  AUTHOR  :    FIRST  VENTURES. 

THE  winter  of  1828-29  was  passed  by 
Whittier  in  Boston.  He  once  with  charac- 
teristic modesty  told  the  writer  that  he 
drifted  into  journalism  that  winter,  as  edi- 
tor of  the  American  Manufacturer,  in  the 
following  way:  He  had  gone  to  Boston 
to  study  and  read.  He  undertook  the 
writing  for  the  Manufacturer  not  be- 
cause he  had  much  liking  for  questions  of 
tariff  and  finance,  but  because  his  own 
finances  would  thereby  be  improved.  Mr. 
Whittier's  chief  personal  trait -is  extreme 
shyness  and  distrust  of  himself,  and  he  dep- 
recated the  idea  that  he  had  any  special 
power  as  a  writer  at  the  time  of  which  we 
are  speaking,  saying  that  he  had  to  study  up 
his  subjects  before  writing.  But  undoubtedly 
he  must  have  wielded  a  vigorous  pen,  and 
been  known  to  possess  a  cool  and  careful 


92  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

head,  or  he  would  not  have  been  invited  to 
assume  the  editorship  of  such  a  paper.  He 
himself  admitted,  in  the  course  of  the  con- 
versation, that  at  that  time  he  had  political 
ambitions,  and  made  a  study  of  political 
economy  and  civil  polities. 

In  1830  we  find  Whittier  at  Haverhill 
again.  In  March  of  that  year  he  was  occu- 
pying the  position  of  editor  of  the  Essex 
Gazette,  and  "  issued  proposals  to  publish  a 
"•  History  of  Haverhill,'  in  one  volume  of 
two  hundred  pages,  duodecimo,  price 
eighty-seven  and  one-half  cents  per  copy. 
c  If  the  material  swelled  the  volume 
above  two  hundred  pages,  the  price 
was  to  be  one  dollar  per  copy.'"  But 
the  limited  encouragement  offered,  and  the 
amount  of  work  required  to  compile  the 
volume,  led  the  young  editor  to  abandon  the 
project.  Whittier  was  editor  of  this  Ga- 
zette for  six  months,  —  from  January  i  to 
July  10,  1830.  On  May  4,  1836,  after  he 
had  returned  from  Philadelphia,  he  resumed 
the  editorship  of  the  journal,  retaining  the 
position  until  December  17  of  the  same  year. 

He  left  the  Gazette  at  the  time  of  his 
first  connection  with  it,  to  go  to  Hartford 


EDITOR  AND  AUTHOR.  93 

for  the  purpose  of  editing  the  New  Eng- 
land Weekly  Review  of  that  city.  His 
first  acquaintance  with  this  Connecticut 
periodical  had  been  made  while  attending  the 
Academy  at  Haverhill.  While  there  he 
happened  to  see  a  copy  of  the  Review,  then 
edited  by  George  D.  Prentice.  He  was 
pleased  with  its  sprightly  and  breezy  tone, 
and  sent  it  several  articles.  Great  was  his 
astonishment  on  finding  that  they  were 
accepted  and  published  with  editorial  com- 
mendation. He  sent  numerous  other  con- 
tributions during  the  same  year. 

One  day  in  1830,  he  was  at  work  in  the 
field,  when  a  letter  was  brought  to  him  from 
the  publishers  of  the  Hartford  paper,  in 
which  they  said  that  they  had  been  asked 
by  Mr.  Prentice  to  request  him  to  edit  the 
paper  during  the  absence  of  Mr.  Prentice 
in  Kentucky,  whither  he  had  gone  to  write 
a  campaign  life  of  Henry  Clay.  "  I  could 
not  have  been  more  utterly  astonished,"  said 
Mr.  Whittier  once,  "if  I  had  been  told  that 
I  was  appointed  prime  minister  to  the  great 
Khan  of  Tartary." 

Mr.  Whittier  was  at  this  time  a  member 


94  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

of  the  National  Republican  party.  He 
afterward  belonged  to  the  anti-slavery 
Liberty  party,  a  faction  of  the  Abolitionists 
which  had  separated  from  the  Garrison 
band.  In  1855  Mr.  Whittier  acted  with  the 
Free  Democratic  party.  In  the  conversation 
alluded  to  a  moment  ago,  the  poet  laugh- 
ingly remarked  that  the  proprietors  of  the 
paper  had  never  seen  him  when  he  went  to 
Hartford  in  1830  to  take  charge  of  their 
periodical.  They  were  much  surprised  at  his 
youth.  But  at  the  first  meeting  he  discreetly 
kept  silence,  letting  them  do  most  of  the 
talking.  Here  most  assuredly,  if  never  again, 
his  Quaker  doctrine  of  silence  stood  him  in 
good  stead;  since,  if  we  may  believe  him, 
he  was  most  wofully  deficient  in  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  intricacies  of  the  political  sit- 
uation of  the  time. 

Whittier  was  twenty-four  years  old  when 
he  published  his  first  volume.  It  is  a  thin 
little  book  entitled  "  Legends  of  New  Eng- 
land" (Hartford:  Hanmerand  Phelps,  1831), 
and  is  a  medley  of  prose  and  verse.  The 
style  is  juvenile  and  extravagantly  rhetori- 
cal, and  the  subject-matter  is  far  from  being 
massive  with  thought.  The  libretto  has 


EDITOR  AND  AUTHOR.  95 

been  suppressed  by  its  author,  and  it  would 
be  ungracious  as  well  as  unjust  to  criticise  it 
at  any  length,  or  quote  more  than  a  single 
morsel  of  its  verses,  which  are  inferior  to 
the  prose.  But  one  may  be  pardoned  for 
giving  two  or  three  specimens  of  the  prose 
stories,  for  they  are  intrinsically  interesting. 
In  the  preface  we  have  a  striking  passage, 
which  may  be  commended  to  those  who 
accuse  Whittier  of  hatred  of  the  Puritan 
fathers,  and  undue  partiality  toward  the 
Quakers.  He  says:  "  I  have  in  many  in- 
stances alluded  to  the  superstition  and  big- 
otry of  our  ancestors,  the  rare  and  bold  race 
who  laid  the  foundation  of  this  republic  j 
but  no  one  can  accuse  me  of  having  done 
injustice  to  their  memories.  A  son  of  New 
England,  and  proud  of  my  birthplace,  I 
would  not  willingly  cast  dishonor  upon  its 
founders.  My  feelings  in  this  respect  have 
already  been  expressed  in  language  which  I 
shall  be  pardoned,  I  trust,  for  introducing  in 
this  place:  — 

Oh  !  —  never  may  a  son  of  thine, 
Where'er  his  wandering  steps  incline, 
Forget  the  sky  which  bent  above 
His  childhood  like  a  dream  of  love, 


96  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

The  stream  beneath  the  green  hill  flowing, 
The  broad-armed  tree  above  it  growing, 
The  clear  breeze  through  the  foliage  blowing 
Or  hear  unmoved  the  taunt  of  scorn, 
Breathed  o'er  the  brave  New  England  born  ; 
Or  mark  the  stranger's  jaguar  hand 

Disturb  the  ashes  of  thy  dead  — 
The  buried  glory  of  a  land 

Whose  soil  with  noble  blood  is  red, 

And  sanctified  in  every  part, 
Nor  feel  resentment,  like  a  brand, 

Unsheathing  from  his  fiery  heart !  " 


The  flow  of  language  in  these  prose  pieces 
is  smooth  and  easy,  and  the  narratives  are 
in  the  same  vein  and  style  as  the  "Twice 
Told  Tales,"  or  Irving's  stories,  only  they 
are  very  much  weaker  than  these,  and 
more  extravagant  and  melodramatic  in  tone. 
"The  Midnight  Attack"  describes  the  ad- 
venture of  Captain  Harmon  and  thirty 
Eastern  rangers  on  the  banks  of  the  Ken- 
nebec  River  in  June,  1722.  A  party  of 
sleeping  Indians  are  surprised  by  them  and 
all  shot  dead  by  one  volley  of  balls.  An 
idea  of  the  style  of  the  piece  will  be  obtained 
from  the  following  paragraphs.  The  men 
are  waiting  for  the  signal  of  Harmon :  — 


EDITOR   AND  AUTHOR.  97 

>;fFire!'  he  at  length  exclaimed,  as  the 
sight  of  his  piece  interposed  full  and  dis- 
tinct between  his  eye  and  the  wild  scalp- 
lock  of  the  Indian.  'Fire,  and  rush  on!' 

"  The  sharp  voice  of  thirty  rifles  thrilled 
through  the  heart  of  the  forest.  There  was 
a  groan  —  a  smothered  cry  —  a  wild  and 
convulsive  movement  among  the  sleeping 
Indians;  and  all  again  was  silent. 

"  The  rangers  sprang  forward  with  their 
clubbed  muskets  and  hunting  knives;  but 
their  work  was  done.  The  red  men  had 
gone  to  their  audit  before  the  Great  Spirit; 
and  no  sound  was  heard  among  them  save 
the  gurgling  of  the  hot  blood  from  their 
lifeless  bosoms." 

It  was  one  of  the  superstitions  of  the 
New  England  colonists  that  the  rattlesnake 
had  the  power  of  charming  or  fascinating 
human  beings.  Whittier's  story, "The  Rat- 
tlesnake Hunter,"  is  based  upon  this  fact. 
An  old  man  with  meagre  and  wasted  form 
is  represented  as  devoting  his  life  to  the 
extermination  of  the  reptiles  among  the 
hills  and  mountains  of  Vermont,  the  in- 
spiring motive  of  his  action  being  the  death 

r 


9  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

of  his  young  and  beautiful  wife,  many 
years  previously,  from  the  bite  of  a  rattle- 
snake. 

"  The  Human  Sacrifice "  relates  the  es- 
cape of  a  young  white  girl  from  the  hands 
of  the  Matchit-Moodus,  an  Indian  tribe 
formerly  dwelling  where  East  Haddam  now 
stands.  The  Indians  are  frightened  from 
their  purpose  of  sacrificing  the  girl  by  a 
rumbling  noise  proceeding  from  a  high  hill 
near  by.  In  his  note  on  the  story  Mr. 
Whittier  says:  "There  is  a  story  prevalent 
in  the  neighborhood,  that  a  man  from  Eng- 
land, a  kind  of  astrologer  or  necromancer, 
undertook  to  rid  the  place  of  the  trouble- 
some noises.  He  told  them  that  the  sound 
proceeded  from  a  carbuncle  —  a  precious 
gem,  growing  in  the  bowels  of  the  rock. 
He  hired  an  old  blacksmith  shop,  and 
worked  for  some  time  with  closed  doors, 
and  at  night.  All  at  once  the  necro- 
mancer departed,  and  the  strange  noises 
ceased.  It  was  supposed  he  had  found  the 
precious  gem,  and  had  fled  with  it  to  his 
native  land."  This  story  of  the  carbuncle 
reminds  us  of  Hawthorne's  story  on  the 
same  subject. 


EDITOR  AND  AUTHOR.  99 

The  following  remarks  are  prefixed  to 
the  poem,  "The  Unquiet  Sleeper":  "Some 
fifty  or  sixty  years  since  an  inhabitant  of 
,  N.  H.,  was  found  dead  at  a  little  dis- 
tance from  his  dwelling,  which  he  left  in 
the  morning  in  perfect  health.  There  is 
a  story  prevalent  among  the  people  of  the 
neighborhood  that,  on  the  evening  of  the 
day  on  which  he  was  found  dead,  strange 
cries  are  annually  heard  to  issue  from  his 
grave!  I  have  conversed  with  some  who 
really  supposed  they  had  heard  them  in  the 
dead  of  the  night,  rising  fearfully  on  the 
autumn  wind.  They  represented  the  sounds 
to  be  of  a  most  appalling  and  unearthly 
nature." 

"The  Spectre  Ship"  is  the  versification 
of  a  legend  related  in  Mather's  "  Magnalia 
Christi."  A  ship  sailed  from  Salem,  having 
on  board  "  a  young  man  of  strange  and  wild 
appearance,  and  a  girl  still  younger,  and  of 
surpassing  beauty.  She  was  deadly  pale, 
and  trembled  even  while  she  leaned  on  the 
arm  of  her  companion."  They  were  sup- 
posed by  some  to  be  demons.  The  vessel 
was  lost,  and  of  course  soon  reappeared  as 
a  ,'ipectre-ship. 


100         JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

Mr.  Whittier's  next  work  was  the  editing, 
in  1832,  of  the  "Remains"  of  his  gifted 
friend,  J.  G.  C.  Brainard.  Students  of  Whit- 
tier's  poems  know  that  for  many  years  the 
genius  and  writings  of  Brainard  exercised 
a  potent  influence  on  his  mind.  Brainard 
undoubtedly  possessed  genius.  He  was  at 
one  time  editor  of  the  Connecticut  Mirror. 
He  died  young,  and  his  work  can  be  consid- 
ered as  hardly  more  than  a  promise  of  future 
excellence.  Whittier,  in  his  Introduction 
to  the  "  Remains,"  shows  a  nice  sense  of 
justice,  and  a  delicate  reserve  in  his  eulo- 
gistic estimate  of  his  dead  brother-poet  and 
friend.  That  he  did  not  falsely  attribute  to 
him  a  rare  genius  will  be  evident  to  those 
who  read  the  following  portion  of  Brainard's 
spirited  ballad  of  "The  Black  Fox":  — 

"  '  How  cold,  how  beautiful,  how  bright 

The  cloudless  heaven  above  us  shines ; 
But  'tis  a  howling  winter's  night, — 
'Twould  freeze  the  very  forest  pines. 

'  The  winds  are  up  while  mortals  sleep ; 

The  stars  look  forth  while  eyes  are  shut; 
The  bolted  snow  lies  drifted  deep 

Around  our  poor  and  lonely  hut. 


EDITOR  AND  AUTHOR.  ioi 

'  With  silent  step  and  listening  ear, 

With  bow  and  arrow,  dog  and  gun, 
We'll  mark  his  track,  for  his  prowl  we  hear, 
Now  is  our  time  —  come  on,  come  on.' 

O'er  many  a  fence,  through  many  a  wood, 
Following  the  dog's  bewildered  scent, 

In  anxious  haste  and  earnest  mood, 
The  Indian  and  the  white  man  went. 

The  gun  is  cock'd,  the  bow  is  bent, 

The  dog  stands  with  uplifted  paw ; 
And  ball  and  arrow  swift  are  sent, 

Aim'd  at  the  prowler's  very  jaw. 

—  The  ball,  to  kill  that  fox,  is  run 

Not  in  a  mould  by  mortals  made  ! 
The  arrow  which  that  fox  should  shun 

Was  never  shap'd  from  earthly  reed ! 

The  Indian  Druids  of  the  wood 

Know  where  the  fatal  arrows  grow  — 

They  spring  not  by  the  summer  flood, 

They  pierce  not  through  the  winter  snow !  "  * 

*Mr.  Whittier  quotes  this  fine  ballad  in  Vol.  II.  p.  243  of 
his  prose  works,  but  with  numerous  changes  of  punctuation 
and  phrase.  The  differences  between  the  poem  as  it  there 
appears  and  as  it  is  given  in  his  own  edition  of  Brainard, 
published  in  1832,  seem  to  show  that  he  has  amended  the 
ballad  and  punctuated  it  to  suit  himself,  or  else  has  quoted 
it  from  memory,  or  at  third  or  fourth  remove.  It  must  be 
admitted  that  the  changes  are  all  improvements,  however 
they  were  made.  The  ballad  is  quoted  above,  however,  as  it 
appears  in  Brainard's  Poems. 


102         JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

Whittier's  Introduction  to  Brainard's 
poems  reveals  a  mind  matured  by  much 
reading  and  thought.  We  hardly  recognize 
in  the  author  and  editor  of  Hartford  the  shy 
girlish  boy  we  so  recently  left  on  the  farm 
at  Haverhill.  There  has  evidently  been  a 
good  deal  of  midnight  oil  burned  since  then. 

The  following  sentiments  respecting  the 
resources  and  the  proper  field  of  the  Amer- 
ican poet  show  that  thus  early  had  Whittier 
taken  the  manly  and  patriotic  resolution  to 
find  in  his  native  land  the  chief  sources  of 
poetic  inspiration:  "It  has  been  often  said 
that  the  New  World  is  deficient  in  the  ele- 
ments of  poetry  and  romance ;  that  its  bards 
must  of  necessity  linger  over  the  classic  ruins 
of  other  lands;  and  draw  their  sketches  of 
character  from  foreign  sources,  and  paint 
Nature  under  the  soft  beauty  of  an  Eastern 
sky.  On  the  contrary,  New  England  is  full 
of  romance;  and  her  writers  would  do  well 
to  follow  the  example  of  Brainard.  The 
great  forest  which  our  fathers  penetrated, 
the  red  men,  their  struggle  and  their  disap- 
pearance, the  powwow  and  the  war-dance, 
the  savage  inroad  and  the  English  sally,  the 
tale  of  superstition  and  the  scenes  of  witch- 


EDITOR  AND  AUTHOR.  103 

craft, —  all  these  are  rich  materials  of  poetry. 
We  have,  indeed,  no  classic  vale  of  Tempe, 
no  haunted  Parnassus,  no  temple  gray  with 
years,  and  hallowed  by  the  gorgeous  pagean- 
try of  idol  worship,  no  towers  and  castles 
over  whose  moonlight  ruins  gathers  the 
green  pall  of  the  ivy;  but  we  have  moun- 
tains pillaring  a  sky  as  blue  as  that  which 
bends  over  classic  Olympus,  streams  as 
bright  and  beautiful  as  those  of  Greece  and 
Italy,  and  forests  richer  and  nobler  than 
those  which  of  old  were  haunted  by  sylph 
and  dryad." 

It  is  easy  to  see  here  a  foreshadowing  of 
"Mogg  Megone,"  "The  Bridal  of  Penna- 
cook,"  the  "  Supernaturalism  of  New  Eng- 
land," and  a  hundred  poems  and  ballads  of 
Whittier's  founded  on  native  themes.  The 
sentiments  in  the  quotation  just  made  remind 
one  of  Emerson's  "  Nature,"  the  preface  of 
Whitman  to  his  first  portentous  quarto, 
"  Leaves  of  Grass,"  and  Wordsworth's  essay 
on  the  nature  of  the  poetic  art.  But  how- 
ever laudable  was  the  Quaker  poet's  resolve 
to  choose  indigenous  subjects,  it  cannot  be 
said  that  either  he  or  Bryant  attained  to 
?nore  than  an  indigeneity  of  theme.  In 


104         JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

form  and  style  they  are  imitative.  Emerson 
and  Whitman  are  our  only  purely  original 
poets. 

Whittier  was  editor  of  the  Neiv  England 
Weekly  Review  for  about  eighteen  months, 
at  the  end  of  which  time  he  returned  to 
the  farm  at  Haverhill,  and  engaged  in  agri- 
cultural pursuits  for  the  next  five  or  six 
years.  In  1831  or  1832  he  published  "Moll 
Pitcher,"  a  tale  of  the  Witch  of  Nahant. 
This  youthful  poem  seems  to  have  com- 
pletely disappeared,  and  Mr.  Whittier  will 
no  doubt  be  devoutly  thankful  that  the 
writer  has  been  unable  to  procure  a  copy. 


WHITTIER   THE  REFORMER. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHITTIER  THE    REFORMER. 

"  God  said:  '  Break  thou  these  yokes  ;  undo 

These  heavy  burdens.     I  ordain 
A.  -work  to  last  thy  -whole  life  through^ 
A  ministry  of  strife  and  pain. 

'  Forego  thy  dreams  of  1ettered  ease,   \ 

Put  thou  the  scholar's  promise  by, 
The  rights  of  man  are  more  than  these." 

He  heard,  and  answered :  'Here  am  //'" 

WHITTIER,  Sumner. 

ON  New  Year's  day  of  1831  William 
Lloyd  Garrison  issued  the  first  number  of 
the  Liberator  from  his  little  attic  room, 
No.  6  Merchants'  Hall,  Boston.  Its  clear  ^N? 
bugle-notes  sounded  the  onset  of  reform 
and  the  death-knell  of  slavery.  It  called 
for  the  buckling  on  of  moral  armor.  Its 
words  were  the  touchstone  of  wills,  the 
shibboleth  of  souls.  Cowards  and  time- 
servers  quickly  ranged  themselves  on  one 
side,  and  heroes  on  the  other.  Before 
young  Whittier, — editor,  litterateur,  and 


100         JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

poet,  —  a  career  full  of  brilliant  promise  had 
opened  up  at  Hartford.  But  through  the 
high  chambers  of  his  soul  the  voice  of  duty 
rang  in  solemn  and  imperative  tones.  He 
heard  and  obeyed.  The  cost  was  counted, 
and  his  resolution  taken.  Upon  his  brow 
he  placed  the  lustrous  fire-wreath  of  the 
martyr,  well  assured  of  his  power  to  endure 
unflinchingly  to  the  end  its  sharpest  pains. 
It  was  the  most  momentous  act  of  his  life; 
it  formed  the  keystone  in  the  arch  of  his 
destinies. 

The  first  decided  anti-slavery  step  taken 
cr^/  by  him  was  the  publication  of  his  fiery 
*T  philippic,  "Justice  and  Expediency."  About 
this  time  also  he  began  the  writing  of  his 
stirring  anti-slavery  poems,  many  of  them 
full  of  pathos,  fierce  invective,  cutting  irony 
and  satire,  —  stirring  the  blood  like  a 
trumpet-call,  giving  impulse  and  enthu- 
siasm to  the  despised  and  half-despairing 
Abolitionists  of  that  day,  and  becoming  a 
part  of  the  very  religion  of  thousands  of 
households  throughout  the  land. 

It  is  almost  impossible  for  those  who 
were  not  participants  in  the  anti-slavery 
conflict,  or  who  have  not  read  histories 


WHITTIER   THE  REFORMER.          IQJ 

and  memoirs  of  the  struggle,  to  realize 
the  deep  opprobrium  that  attached  to  the 
word  "Abolitionist."  To  avow  one's  self 
such  meant  in  many  cases  suspicion,  os- 
tracism, hunger,  blows,  and  sometimes 
death.  It  meant,  in  short,  self-renunciation 
and  social  martyrdom.  All  this  Whittier 
gladly  took  upon  himself;  and  he  knew  that 
it  was  a  long  struggle  upon  which  he  was 
entering.  As  he  says  in  one  of  his  poems, 
he  was 

"  Called  from  dream  and  song, 
Thank  God !  so  early  to  a  strife  so  long, 
That,  ere  it  closed,  the  black,  abundant  hair 
Of  boyhood  rested  silver-sown  and  spare 
On  manhood's  temples."    . 

That  the  martyrdom  was  a  severe  one  to 
all  who  took  up  the  cross  goes  without  say- 
ing. Mr.  Whittier  remarked  to  the  writer 
that  it  was  at  some  sacrifice  of  his  ambi- 
tion and  plans  for  the  future  that  he  decided 
to  throw  in  his  lot  with  the  opponents  of 
slavery.  He  knew  that  it  meant  the  anni- 
hilation of  his  hopes  of  literary  preferment, 
and  the  exclusion  of  his  articles  from  the 
pages  of  magazines  and  newspapers.  "For 
twenty  years,"  said  he,  "my  name  would 


108         JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

have  injured  the  circulation  of  any  of  the 
literary  or  political  journals  of  the  country." 

When  Whittier  joined  the  ranks  of  the 
despised  faction,  Garrison  had  been  im- 
prisoned and  fined  in  Baltimore  for  his 
arraignment  of  the  slave  traffic;  Benjamin 
Lundy  had  been  driven  from  the  same  city 
by  threats  of  imprisonment  and  personal 
outrage;  Prudence  Crandall  was  waging 
her  battle  with  the  Philistinism  of  Canter- 
bury, Conn.;  and  the  Legislature  of  Georgia 
had  offered  a  reward  of  five  thousand  dollars 
for  "the  arrest,  prosecution,  and  trial  to 
conviction  under  the  laws  of  the  State,  of 
the  editor  or  publisher  of  a  certain  paper 
called  The  Liberator,  published  in  the 
town  of  Boston,  and  State  of  Massachu- 
setts." 

But  it  is  not  within  the  province  of  this 
biography  to  give  an  exhaustive  resume  of 
the  anti-slavery  conflict,  but  only  to  speak 
of  such  of  its  episodes  as  were  especially 
participated  in  by  Mr.  Whittier.  How 
tailor  John  Woolman  became  a  life-long 
itinerant  preacher  of  his  mild  Quaker  gospel 
of  freedom;  how  honest  saddler  Lundy 
left  his  leather  hammering,  and  walked  his 


WHITTIER   THE  REFORMER.  109 

ten  thousand  miles,  carrying  his  types  and 
column-rules  with  him,  and  printing  his 
"Genius  of  Universal  Emancipation"  as  he 
went;  in  what  way  and  to  what  extent  the 
labors  and  writings  of  Lucretia  Mott, 
Samuel  J.  May,  Lydia  Maria  Child,  George 
Thompson,  James  G.  Birney,  and  Gerrit 
Smith  helped  on  the  noble  cause,  —  to  all 
these  things  only  allusion  can  be  made. 
For  a  full  account  of  those  perilous  times 
one  must  go  to  the  pages  of  Henry  Wilson's 
"History  of  the  Rise  and  Fall  of  the  Slave 
Power,"  and  to  the  fascinating  "Recollec- 
tions" of  Samuel  J.  May.  Let  us  now 
return  to  Whittier  and  consider  his  own 
writings,  labors,  and  adventures  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  cause. 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  1833  that  he  pub- 
lished at  his  own  expense  "Justice  and 
Expediency;  or,  Slavery  Considered  with  a 
view  to  its  Rightful  and  Effectual  Remedy, 
Abolition."  [Haverhill:  C.  P.  Thayer  and 
Co.]  It  is  a  polemical  paper,  full  of  excla- 
mation points  and  italicized  and  capitalized 
sentences.  The  hyperbole  speaks  well  for 
the  author's  heart,  but  betrays  his  juvenility. 
He  shrieks  like  a  temperance  lecturer  or  a 


110         JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

stump  politician.  The  pamphlet,  however, 
shows  diligent  and  systematic  study  of  the 
entire  literature  of  the  subject.  Every  state- 
ment is  fortified  by  quotation  or  reference. 
He  enumerates  six  reasons  why  the  Afri- 
can Colonization  Society's  schemes  were 
unworthy  of  good  men's  support,  and  but- 
tresses up  his  theses  by  citations  from  the 
official  literature  of  his  opponents.  A  thor- 
ough familiarity  with  slavery  in  other  lands 
and  times  is  also  manifested.  As  a  speci- 
men of  the  style  of  the  book  the  following 
will  serve:  — 

"But,  it  may  be  said  that  the  miserable 
victims  of  the  System  have  our  sympathies. 

"Sympathy!  —  the  sympathy  of  the  Priest 
and  the  Levite,  looking  on,  and  acknow,!- 
edging,  but  holding  itself  aloof  from  mortal 
suffering.  Can  such  hollow  sympathy  reach 
the  broken  of  heart,  and  does  the  blessing 
of  those  who  are  ready  to  perish  answer  it? 
Does  it  hold  back  the  lash  from  the  slave, 
or  sweeten  his  bitter  bread? 

"Oh,  my  heart  is  sick  —  my  very  soul  is 
weary  of  this  sympathy — this  heartless 
mockery  of  feeling.  .  .  . 


WHITTIER   THE  REFORMER.  Ill 

"No  —  let  the  TRUTH  on  this  subject  — 
undisguised,  naked,  terrible  as  it  is,  stand  out 
before  us.  Let  us  no  longer  seek  to  cover 
it  —  let  us  no  longer  strive  to  forget  it  — 
let  us  no  more  dare  to  palliate  it." 

In  his  sketch  of  Nathaniel  P.  Rogers,  the 
anti-slavery  editor,  Whittier  remarks  inci- 
dentally that  the  voice  of  Rogers  was  one 
of  the  few  which  greeted  him  with  words 
of  encouragement  and  sympathy  at  the 
time  of  the  publication  of  his  "Justice  and 
Expediency."  * 

On  the  fourth  day  of  December,  1833,  the 
Philadelphia  Convention  for  the  formation 
of  the  American  Anti-slavery  Society  held 
its  first  sitting;  Beriah  Green,  President, 
Lewis  Tappan  and  John  G.  Whittier,  Sec- 
retaries. This  assembly,  if  not  so  famous 
as  that  which  framed  the  Declaration  of  In- 
dependence in  the  same  city  some  two  gen- 
erations previously,  was  at  any  rate  as  worthy 
of  fame  and  respect  as  its  illustrious  prede- 

*  '''  He  gave  us  a  kind  word  of  approval,"  says  Whittier, 
"  and  invited  us  to  his  mountain  home,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Pemigewasset,  an  invitation  which,  two  years  afterwards,  w* 
accepted." 


112         JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

cessor.  A  deep  solemnity  and  high  conse- 
cration filled  the  heart  of  every  man  and 
woman  in  that  little  band.  Heart  answered 
unto  heart  in  glowing  sympathy.  They  did 
their  work  like  men  inspired.  Perfect  una- 
nimity prevailed.  They  were  too  eagerly 
engaged  to  adjourn  for  dinner,  and  "baskets 
of  crackers  and  pitchers  of  cold  water  sup- 
plied all  the  bodily  refreshment."  Among 
those  who  were  present  and  spoke  was 
Lucretia  Mott,  w  a  beautiful  and  graceful  wo- 
man," says  Whittier,  "  in  the  prime  of  life, 
with  a  face  beneath  her  plain  cap  as  finely 
intellectual  as  that  of  Madame  Roland." 
She  "offered  some  wise  and  valuable  sugf- 

o 

gestions,  in  a  clear  sweet  voice,  the  charm 
of  which  I  have  never  forgotten." 

A  committee,  of  which  Whittier  was  a 
member,  with  William  Lloyd  Garrison  as 
chairman,  was  appointed  to  draw  up  a  Dec- 
laration of  Principles.  Garrison  sat  up  all 
night,  in  the  small  attic  of  a  colored  man, 
to  draft  this  Declaration.  The  two  other 
members  of  the  committee,  calling  in  the 
gray  dawn  of  a  December  day,  found  him 
putting  the  last  touches  to  this  famous 


JOHN    GREENLEAF   WHITTIER   AT    MIDDLE   LIFE. 


WHITTIER   THE  REFORMER.  115, 

paper,  while  his  lamp  burned  on  unheeded 
into  the  daylight.  His  draft  was  accepted 
almost  without  amendment  by  the  Conven- 
tion, and,  after  it  had  been  engrossed  on 
parchment,  was  signed  by  the  sixty-two 
members  present.* 

In  the  Atlantic  Monthly  for  February, 
1874,  Mr.  Whittier  has  given  an  interesting 
account  of  the  Convention.  Some  of  his 
pictures  are  so  graphic  that  they 'shall  here 
be  given  in  his  own  words:  — 

w  In  the  gray  twilight  of  a  chill  day  of 
late  November,  forty  years  ago,  a  dear 
friend  of  mine  residing  in  Boston,  made  his 
appearance  at  the  old  farm-house  in  East 
Haverhill.  He  had  been  deputed  by  the 
Abolitionists  of  the  city,  William  L.  Garri- 
son, Samuel  E.  Sewall,  and  others,  to  in- 
form me  of  my  appointment  as  a  delegate  to 
the  Convention  about  to  be  held  in  Phila- 
delphia for  the  formation  of  an  American 
Anti-slavery  Society;  and  to  urge  upon  me 
the  necessity  of  my  attendance. 

*  Twenty-one  of  these  persons  were  Quakers,  as  Mr.  Whit- 
tier  and  the  writer  proved  by  actual  count  of  the  names  on 
Mr.  Whittier's  fac-simile  copy  of  the  Declaration. 


Il6         JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

"  Few  words  of  persuasion,  however,  were 
needed.  I  was  unused  to  travelling;  my 
life  had  been  spent  on  a  secluded  farm;  and 
the  journey,  mostly  by  stage-coach,  at  that 
time  was  really  a  formidable  one.  More- 
over the  few  abolitionists  were  everywhere 
spoken  against,  their  persons  threatened, 
and,  in  some  instances,  a  price  set  on  their 
heads  by  Southern  legislators.  Pennsylva- 
nia was  on  the  borders  of  slavery,  and  it 
needed  small  effort  of  imagination  to  pict- 
ure to  oneself  the  breaking  up  of  the  Con- 
vention and  maltreatment  of  its  members. 
This  latter  consideration  I  do  not  think 
weighed  much  with  me,  although  I  was 
better  prepared  for  serious  danger  than  for 
anything  like  personal  indignity.  I  had 
read  Governor  Trumbull's  description  of 
the  tarring  and  feathering  of  his  hero  Mac- 
Fingal,  when  after  the  application  of  the 
melted  tar,  the  feather-bed  was  ripped  open 
and  shaken  over  him,  until 

Not  Maia's  son  with  wings  for  ears, 
Such  plumes  about  his  visage  wears, 
Nor  Milton's  six-winged  angel  gathers 
Such  superfluity  of  feathers,' 

and  I  confess  I  was  quite   unwilling  to  un- 


WHITTIER    THE  REFORMER.  I  I  7 

dergo  a  martyrdom  which  my  best  friends 
could  scarcely  refrain  from  laughing  at. 
But  a  summons  like  that  of  Garrison's 
bugle-blast  could  scarcely  be  unheeded  by 
one  who,  from  birth  and  education,  held 
fast  the  traditions  of  that  earlier  abolition- 
ism which,  under  the  lead  of  Benezet  and 
Wool  man,  had  effaced  from  the  Society  of 
Friends  every  vestige  of  slaveholding.  I 
had  thrown  myself,  with  a  young  man's 
fervid  enthusiasm,  into  a  movement  which 
commended  itself  to  my  reason  and  con- 
science, to  my  love  of  country,  and  my  sense 
of  duty  to  God  and  my  fellow-men.  My 
first  venture  in  authorship  was  the  publica- 
tion, at  my  own  expense,  in  the  spring  of 
1833,  of  a  pamphlet  entitled  'Justice  and 
Expediency,'*  on  the  moral  and  political 
evils  of  slavery,  and  the  duty  of  emancipa- 
tion. Under  such  circumstances,  I  could 
not  hesitate,  but  prepared  at  once  for  my 
journey.  It  was  necessary  that  I  should 
start  on  the  morrow,  and  the  intervening 

*  Mr.  Whittier  here  made  a  slip  of  memory.  His  first  work 
was  "Legends  of  New  England,"  as  he  himself  testifies,  in 
his  own  handwriting,  in  a  memorandum  sent  to  the  New 
England  Historic-Genealogical  Society. 


Il8        JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

time,  with  a  small  allowance  for  sleep,  was 
spent  in  providing  for  the  care  of  the  farm 
and  homestead  during  my  absence." 

Mr.  Whittier  proceeds  to  tell  of  his  jour- 
ney to  the  Quaker  City,  and  of  the  organiza- 
tion and  work  of  the  Convention.  The  fol- 
lowing pen-portraits  are  too  valuable  to  be 
omitted:  — 

"Looking  over  the  assembly,  I  noticed 
that  it  was  mainly  composed  of  compara- 
tively young  men,  some  in  middle  age, 
and  a  few  beyond  that  period.  They  were 
nearly  all  plainly  dressed,  with  a  view  to 
comfort  rather  than  elegance.  Many  of  the 
faces  turned  toward  me  wore  a  look  of  ex- 
pectancy and  suppressed  enthusiasm ;  all 
had  the  earnestness  which  might  be  ex- 
pected of  men  engaged  in  an  enterprise 
beset  with  difficulty,  and  perhaps  with  peril. 
The  fine  intellectual  head  of  Garrison,  pre- 
maturely bald,  was  conspicuous;  the  sunny- 
faced  young  man  at  his  side,  in  whom  all 
the  beatitudes  seemed  to  find  expression, 
was  Samuel  J.  May,  mingling  in  his  veins 
the  best  blood  of  the  Sewalls  and  Quincys; 


WHITTIER   THE  REFORMER.  119 

a  man  so  exceptionally  pure  and  large- 
hearted,  so  genial,  tender,  and  loving,  that 
he  could  be  faithful  to  truth  and  duty  with- 
out making  an  enemy. 

The  de'il  wad  look  into  his  face, 
And  swear  he  could  na  wrang  him.' 

That  tall,  gaunt,  swarthy  man,  erect,  eagle- 
faced,  upon  whose  somewhat  martial  figure 
the  Quaker  coat  seemed  a  little  out  of  place, 
was  Lindley  Coates,  known  in  all  Eastern 
Pennsylvania  as  a  stern  enemy  of  slavery; 
that  slight,  eager  man,  intensely  alive  in 
every  feature  and  gesture,  was  Thomas 
Shipley,  who  for  thirty  years  had  been  the 
protector  of  the  free  colored  people  of  Phil- 
adelphia, and  whose  name  was  whispered 
reverently  in  the  slave  cabins  of  Maryland 
as  the  friend  of  the  black  man, —  one  of  a 
class  peculiar  to  old  Quakerism,  who,  in  do- 
ing what  they  felt  to  be  duty,  and  walking 
as  the  Light  within  guided  them,  knew  no 
fear  and  shrank  from  no  sacrifice.  Braver 
men  the  world  has  not  known.  Beside  him, 
differing  in  creed  but  united  with  him  in 
works  of  love  and  charity,  sat  Thomas 
Whitson,  of  the  Hicksite  school  of  Friends, 


I2O        JOHN  GREEXLEAF   WHITTIER. 

fresh  from  his  farm  in  Lancaster  County, 
dressed  in  plainest  homespun,  his  tall  form 
surmounted  by  a  shock  of  unkempt  hair, 
the  odd  obliquity  of  his  vision  contrasting 
strongly  with  the  clearness  and  directness 
of  his  spiritual  insight.  Elizur  Wright,  the 
young  professor  of  a  Western  college,  who 
had  lost  his  place  by  his  bold  advocacy  of 
freedom,  with  a  look  of  sharp  concentration, 
in  keeping  with  an  intellect  keen  as  a  Da- 
mascus blade,  closely  watched  the  proceed- 
ings through  his  spectacles,  opening  his 
mouth  only  to  speak  directly  to  the  purpose. 
.  .  .  In  front  of  me,  awakening  pleas- 
ant associations  of  the  old  homestead  in 
Merrimack  valley,  sat  my  first  school- 
teacher, Joshua  Coffin,  the  learned  and 
worthy  antiquarian  and  historian  of  New- 
bury.  A  few  spectators,  mostly  of  the 
Hicksite  division  of  Friends,  were  present 
in  broad-brims  and  plain  bonnets,  among 
them  Esther  Moore  and  Lucretia  Mott." 

The  year  1834  was  passed  by  Whittier 
quietly  on  the  farm  at  East  Haverhill.  In 
April  of  this  year  the  first  anti-slavery  soci- 
ety was  organized  in  Haverhill,  with  John 


WHITTIER   THE  REFORMER.  121 

G.  Whittier  as  corresponding  secretary. 
Not  long  after  a  female  anti-slavery  society 
was  organized  in  the  same  town.  The  pro- 
slavery  feeling  in  Haverhill  was  as  bitter  as 
in  other  places. 

One  Sabbath  afternoon  in  August,  1835, 
the  Rev.  Samuel  J.  May  occupied  the  pulpit 
of  the  First  Parish  Society  in  Haverhill, 
and  in  the  evening  attempted  to  give  an 
anti-slavery  lecture  in  the  Christian  Union 
Chapel,  having  been  invited  to  do  so  by  Mr. 
Whittier.  In  his  "Recollections  of  the 
Anti-Slavery  Conflict"  (p.  152),  Mr.  May 
says : — 

"  I  had  spoken  about  fifteen  minutes  when 
the  most  hideous  outcries  and  yells,  from  a 
crowd  of  men  who  had  surrounded  the 
house,  startled  us,  and  then  came  heavy 
missiles  against  the  doors  and  blinds  of  the 
windows.  I  persisted  in  speaking  for  a  few 
minutes,  hoping  the  blinds  and  doors  were 
strong  enough  to  stand  the  siege.  But  pres- 
ently a  heavy  stone  broke  through  one  of 
the  blinds,  shattered  a  pane  of  glass,  and  fell 
upon  the  head  of  a  lady  sitting  near  the  cen- 
tre of  the  hall.  She  uttered  a  shriek,  and 
fell  bleeding  into  the  arms  of  her  sister. 


122         JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

The  panic-stricken  audience  rose  en  masse, 
and  began  a  rush  for  the  doors." 

Mr.  May  succeeded  in  quieting  the  fears 
of  the  audience,  and  himself  escaped  through 
the  crowd  of  infuriated  ruffians  without  by 
walking  between  two  ladies,  one  of  them 
the  sister  of  Mr.  Whittier  and  the  other  the 
daughter  of  a  wealthy  and  determined  citi- 
zen of  the  place,  who,  it  was  well  known, 
would  take  summary  vengeance  for  any 
disrespect  shown  to  his  daughter.  It  was 
well  that  the  audience  dispersed  when  it 
did,  since  a  loaded  cannon  was  being  drawn 
to  the  spot  by  the  furious  mob. 

This  year,  1835,  was  a  year  of  mobs.  On 
the  very  same  evening  that  Mr.  May  was 
mobbed  in  Haverhill,  Mr.  Whittier  and  his 
English  friend,  the  orator  George  Thomp- 
son, were  treated  in  a  similar  manner  in 
Concord,  N.  H.  Whether  an  account  of 
the  Concord  mob  has  been  elsewhere  pub- 
lished or  not  the  author  cannot  say,  but  the 
story  given  here  is  as  he  had  it  from  the  lips 
of  Mr.  Whittier  himself. 

"Oh!  we  had  a  dreadful  night  of  it,"  he 
said.  The  inhabitants  had  heard  that  an 
Abolition  meeting  was  to  be  held  in  the 


WHITTIER   THE  REFORMER.  123 

town,  and  that  the  arch  anarchist,  George 
Thompson,  was  to  speak.  So  on  that  Sab- 
bath evening  they  were  on  the  alert,  an  angry 
mob  some  five  hundred  strong.  Mr.  Whit- 
tier,  knowing  nothing  of  their  state  of  mind, 
started  down  the  street  with  a  friend:  the 
mob  surrounded  them,  thinking  that  he  was 
Thompson.  His  friend  explained  to  them 
that  he  was  Mr.  Whittier.  "Oh!"  they 
exclaimed,  "  so  you  are  the  one  who  is  with 
Thompson,  are  you?"  and  forthwith  they 
began  to  assail  the  two  men  with  sticks  and 
stones.  Mr.  Whittier  said  that  both  he  and 
his  friend  were  hurt,  but  escaped  with  their 
lives  by  taking  refuge  in  the  house  of  a 
friend  named  Kent,  who  was  not  an  Aboli- 
tionist himself,  but  was  a  man  of  honor  and 
bravery.  He  barred  his  door,  and  told  the 
mob  that  they  should  have  Whittier  only 
over  his  dead  body. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  Mr.  Whittier 
learned  that  the  house  in  which  Thompson 
was  staying  was  surrounded  by  the  mob. 
Becoming  anxious,  he  borrowed  a  hat,  sal- 
lied out  among  the  crowd,  and  succeeded 
in  reaching  his  friend.  The  noise  and  vio- 
lence of  the  mob  increased  j  a  cannon  was 


124        JOHN  GREEN  LEAF   WHITTIER. 

x  brought,  and  at  one  time  the  little  band  in 
the  house  feared  they  might  suffer  violence. 
"We  did  not  much  fear  death,"  said  Mr. 
Whittier,  "  but  we  did  dread  gross  personal 
indignities." 

It  was  fortunately  a  bright  moonlight 
night,  suitable  for  travelling,  and  about  one 
o'clock  the  two  friends  escaped  by  driving 
off  rapidly  in  their  horse  and  buggy.  They 
did  not  know  the  road  to  Haverhill,  but 
were  directed  by  their  friends  with  all  pos- 
sible minuteness.  Three  miles  away,  also, 
there  was  the  house  of  an  anti-slavery  man, 
and  they  obtained  further  directions  there. 
Some  time  after  sunrise  they  stopped  at  a 
wayside  inn  to  bait  their  horse,  and  get  a 
bite  of  breakfast  for  themselves.  While 
they  were  at  table  the  landlord  said, — 

"  They've  been  having  a  h — 1  of  a  time 
down  at  Haverhill." 

"How  is  that?" 

"Oh,  one  of  them  d — d  Abolitionists  was 
lecturin'  there;  he  had  been  invited  to  the 
town  by  a  young  fellow  named  Whittier; 
but  they  made  it  pretty  hot  for  him,  and  I 
guess  neither  he  nor  Whittier  will  be  in  a 
hurry  to  repeat  the  thing." 


WHITTIER    THE   REFORMER.  125 

"  What  kind  of  a  fellow  is  this  Whittier?" 

"Oh,  he's  an  ignorant  sort  of  fellow;  he 
don't  know  much." 

"  And  who  is  this  Thompson  they're  talk- 
ing about?" 

"  Why,  he's  a  man  sent  over  here  by  the 
British  to  make  trouble  in  our  government." 

As  the  two  friends  were  stepping  into  the 
buggy,  Mr.  Whittier,  with  one  foot  on  the 
step,  turned  and  said  to  the  host,  who  was 
standing  by  with  several  tavern  loafers:  — 

"You've  been  talking  about  Thompson 
and  Whittier.  This  is  Mr.  Thompson,  and 
I  am  Whittier.  Good  morning." 

"  And  jumping  into  the  buggy,"  said 
the  poet,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "  we 
whipped  up,  and  stood  not  on  the  order  of 
our  going."  As  for  the  host  he  stood  with 
open  mouth,  being  absolutely  tongue-tied 
with  astonishment.  "  And  for  all  I  know," 
said  the  narrator,  "he's  standing  there  still 
with  his  mo.uth  open." 

Mr.  1  hompson  was  secreted  at  the  Whit- 
tier farm-house  in  Haverhill  for  two  weeks 
after  this  affair. 

Some   two   months  after  the   disgraceful 


126        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

scenes  just  described  occurred  the  mobbing 
of  William  Lloyd  Garrison  in  Boston.  He 
had  gone  in  the  evening  to  deliver  a  lecture 
before  the  Female  Anti-Slavery  Society. 
A  furious  mob  of  "gentlemen  of  property 
and  standing"  surrounded  the  building. 
Mr.  Garrison  took  refuge  in  a  carpenter's 
shop  in  the  rear  of  the  hall,  but  was  vio- 
lently seized,  let  down  from  a  window  bv  a 
rope,  and  dragged  by  the  mob  to  the  City 
Hall.  Mr.  Whittier  was  staying  at  the 
house  of  Rev.  Samuel  J.  May.  His  sister 
had  gone  to  the  lecture,  and  Mr.  Whittier. 
on  hearing  of  the  disturbance,  had  fears  for 
her  safety,  and  went  out  to  seek  her.  He 
said  to  the  writer  that  when  he  reached  the 
City  Hall  he  saw  before  him  the  best 
dressed  mob  imaginable.  Presently  he 
heard  a  cry,  "They've  got  him!"  After  a 
short,  sharp  scuffle  Garrison  was  got  into  a 
carriage  by  the  police,  and  taken  to  the 
Leverett  Street  jail,  as  the  only  place  where 
he  could  be  safe  that  night  in  Boston.  Mr. 
Whittier  and  Mr.  May  immediately  went 
down  to  the  jail  to  see  him.  Garrison  said 
that  he  could  not  say,  with  Paul,  that  he  was 
dwelling  in  his  own  hired  house,  and  so  he 


WHITTIER   THE  REFORMER.  12>J 

could  not  ask  them  to  stay  all  night  with 
him!  His  coat  was  not  entirely  gone,  but 
was  pretty  badly  torn.  He  was  at  first  a 
good  deal  agitated  by  the  affair,  but  when 
they  left  him  he  had  become  calm  and  as- 
sured. On  the  same  evening,  the  mob 
threatened  to  make  an  attack  upon  Mr. 
May's  house.  Mr.  Whittier  got  his  sister 
Elizabeth  safely  bestowed  for  the  night  in 
the  dwelling  of  another  friend.  He  and 
Mr.  May  passed  a  sleepless  night,  and  at 
one  time  half  thought  that,  for  safety's  sake, 
they  should  have  stayed  in  the  jail  with  Gar- 
rison. However,  they  were  not  molested. 

It  is  a  remarkable  testimony  to  the  esteem 
in  which  Mr.  Whittier  must  have  been  held 
by  the  citizens  of  Haverhill  that,  notwith- 
standing their  bitter  hatred  of  Abolitionism, 
they  elected  him  their  representative  to  the 
State  Legislature  in  1835,  and  again  in  1836. 
In  1837  he  declined  re-election.  In  the 
legislative  documents  for  1835  he  figures  as 
a  member  of  the  standing  committee  on 
engrossed  bills.  His  name  does  not  appear 
in  the  State  records  for  1836:  it  was  un- 
doubtedly owing  to  his  secretarial  duties, 
mentioned  below,  that  he  was  unable  to 


128         JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

take  his  seat  as  a  member  of  the  Legislature 
in  the  second  year  of  his  election. 

In  1836  Whittier  published  "  Mogg  Me- 
gone,"  a  poem  on  an  episode  in  Indian  life. 
It  will  be  reviewed,  with  the  rest  of  his 
poems,  in  the  second  part  of  this  volume. 
In  the  same  year  he  was  appointed  Secre- 
tary of  the  American  Anti-Slavery  Society, 
and  removed  to  Philadelphia.  In  1838- 
39,  while  in  that  city,  he  edited  a  paper 
which  he  named  the  Pennsylvania  Free- 
man. It  had  formerly  been  edited  by 
Benjamin  Lundy,  under  the  title  of  the  Na- 
tional Enquirer.  The  office  of  the  Penn- 
sylvania Freeman  was  in  1838  sacked  and 
burned  by  a  mob.  It  was  about  the  same 
time  that  Pennsylvania  Hall  in  Philadelphia 
was  burned  to  the  ground  by  the  citizens, 
on  the  very  day  after  its  dedication.  Mr. 
Whittier  had  read  an  original  poem  on  that 
occasion.  The  hall  had  been  built  at  con- 
siderable sacrifice  by  the  lovers  of  freedom, 
in  order  that  one  place  at  least  might  be 
open  for  free  discussion.  And  it  was  just 
in  order  that  it  might  not  be  used  thus  that 
it  was  burned  by  the  guilty-thoughted  mob. 
The  keys  had  been  given  to  the  mayor,  but 


WHITTIER    THE  REFORMER.  129 

neither  he  nor  the  police  interfered  to  pre- 
vent the  atrocious  deed. 

In  1837  Mr.  Whittier  edited,  and  wrote 
a  preface  for,  the  "  Letters  of  John  Quincy 
Adams  to  his  Constituents."  These  stirring 
letters  of  Mr.  Adams  were  called  forth  by 
the  attacks  that  had  been  made  on  him  by 
members  of  Congress  for  defending  the  right 
of  negroes  to  petition  the  Government.  Mr. 
Whittier,  in  his  introductory  remarks,  speaks 
of  the  "  Letters  "  as  follows:  — 

"Their  sarcasm  is  Junius-like,  cold, 
keen,  unsparing.  In  boldness,  directness, 
and  eloquent  appeal,  they  will  bear  compari- 
son with  O'Connell's  celebrated  letters  to 
the  Reformers  of  Great  Britain.  ...  It 
will  be  seen  that,  in  the  great  struggle  for 
and  against  the  Right  of  Petition,  an  account 
of  which  is  given  in  the  following  pages, 
their  author  stood  in  a  great  measure  alone, 
and  unsupported  by  his  northern  colleagues. 
On  'his  gray,  discrowned  head'  the  en- 
tire fury  of  slaveholding  arrogance  and 
wrath  was  expended.  He  stood  alone, — 
beating  back,  with  his  aged  and  single  arm, 
the  tide  which  would  have  borne  down  and 
9 


130        JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

overwhelmed  a  less  sturdy  and  determined 
spirit." 

In  the  same  year  (1837)  Mr.  Whittier 
edited  a  pamphlet  called  "Views  of  Slavery 
and  Emancipation,"  taken  from  Harriet 
Martineau's  "Society  in  America."  The 
whole  subject  of  slavery  is  canvassed  by 
Miss  Martineau  in  the  most  searching  and 
judicial  manner. 

In  closing  this  account  of  our  author's 
anti-slavery  labors,  we  may  bestow  a  word 
on  the  attitude  assumed  toward  the  Aboli- 
tion movement  by  the  Quakers  as  a  sect. 
Through  the  labors  of  John  Woolman,  Ben- 
jamin Lundy,  Anthony  Benezet,  and  others, 
they  had  early  been  brought  to  see  the 
wickedness  of  slaveholding,  and  in  1780  had 
succeeded  in  entirely  ridding  their  denomi- 
nation of  the  wrong.  They  not  only  eman- 
cipated their  slaves,  but  remunerated  them 
for  their  past  services.  Indeed,  their  record 
in  this  respect  is  unique  for  its  fine  ideal 
devotion  to  exact  justice.  They  were  the 
first  religious  body  in  the  world  to  remove 
the  pollution  of  slavery  from  their  midst. 
But  the  cautious,  acquisitive,  peace-loving 


WHITTIER    THE  REFORMER.  131 

Quakers  seemed  content  to  rest  here,  satis- 
fied with  having  cleared  their  own  skirts 
of  wrong.  They  could  not  see  the  good 
side  of  the  Abolition  movement.  They 
were  scandalized  by  the  violence  and  fanati- 
cism of  many  Abolitionists.  Mr.  Whittier 
felt  aggrieved  by  this  attitude  of  the  Friends, 
but  did  not  on  that  account  break  with  the 
denomination,  or  abandon  the  religion  of  his 
fathers.  In  1868  he  wrote  as  follows  to  the 
New  Bedford  Standard,  which  had  spoken 
of  him  in  an  article  on  Thomas  A.  Greene: 
"My  object  in  referring  to  the  article  in  the 
paper  was  mainly  to  correct  a  statement  re- 
garding myself,  viz.:  That  in  consequence 
of  the  opposition  of  the  Society  of  Friends 
to  the  anti-slavery  movement,  I  did  not  for 
years  attend  their  meetings.  This  is  not 
true.  From  my  youth  up,  whenever  my 
health  permitted,  I  have  been  a  constant  at- 
tendant of  our  meetings  for  religious  worship. 
This  is  true,  however,  that  after  our  meeting- 
houses were  denied  by  the  yearly  meeting 
for  anti-slavery  purposes,  I  did  not  feel  it  in 
my  way,  for  some  years,  to  attend  the  annual 
meeting  at  Newport.  From  a  feeling  of 
duty  I  protested  against  that  decision  when 


132        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

it  was  made,  but  was  given  to  understand 
pretty  distinctly  that  there  was  no  r weight' 
in  my  words.  It  was  a  hard  day  for  reform- 
ers; some  stifled  their  convictions;  others, 
aot  adding  patience  to  their  faith,  allowed 
themselves  to  be  worried  out  of  the  Society. 
Abolitionists  holding  office  were  very  gener- 
ally ? dropped  out,'  and  the  ark  of  the  church 
staggered  on  with  no  profane  anti-slavery 
hands  upon  it." 


AMESBURY.  133 


CHAPTER    VI. 

AMESBURY. 

AFTER  the  sacking  and  burning  of  the 
office  of  the  Pennsylvania  Freeman,  Whit- 
tier  returned  to  Haverhill,  and  soon  after 
(in  1840)  he  sold  the  old  farm  and  removed 
with  his  mother  to  Amesbury,  a  small  town 
some  nine  miles  nearer  the  sea  than  Haver- 
hill.  It  is  a  rural  town  of  over  three  thou- 
sand inhabitants,  and  contains  nothing  of 
note  except  the  poet  Whittier.  The  busi- 
ness of  the  place  is  the  manufacture  of  wool- 
len and  cotton  goods,  and  of  carriages.  The 
landscape  is  rugged  and  picturesque.  The 
town  covers  a  sloping  hillside  that  stretches 
down  to  the  Merrimack.  Across  this  river 
rises  a  high  hill,  crowned  with  orchards  and 
meadows.  In  summer  time  a  sweet  and 
quiet  air  reigns  in  the  place.  There  are 
old  vine-covered  houses,  grassy  lawns,  cool 
crofts,  and  sunken  orchards;  bees  are  hum- 


I  34         JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

ming,  birds  singing,  and  here  and  there 
through  the  trees  slender  columns  of  blue 
wood-smoke  float  upward  in  airy  evanes- 
cence. Mr.  Whittier's  residence  is  on  Friend 
Street,  and  not  far  beyond,  on  the  same 
street,  or  rather  in  the  delta  formed  by  the 
meeting  of  two  streets,  stands  the  Friends' 
Meeting-House,  where  the  poet  has  been  an 
attendant  nearly  all  his  life:  — 

"  For  thee,  the  priestly  rite  and  prayer, 
And  holy  day,  and  solemn  psalm  ; 
For  me,  the  silent  reverence  where 
My  brethren  gather,  slow  and  calm." 

This  old  meeting-house  is  alluded  to  by 
the  poet  in  "Abram  Morrison,"  a  fine  humor- 
ous poem  published  in  "The  King's  Mis- 
sive" (1881).  We  there  read  how — 

"  On  calm  and  fair  First  Days 
Rattled  down  our  one-horse  chaise 
Through  the  blossomed  apple-boughs 
To  the  old,  brown  meeting-house." 

Whittier's  house  is  a  plain,  white-painted 
structure,  standing  at  the  corner  of  two 
streets,  and  having  in  front  of  it  numerous 
forest  trees,  chiefly  maple.  Since  1876  the 


' 

THE  WHITTIER   HOUSE,   AMESBURY,   MASS. 


AMESBURY.  137 

poet  has  passed  only  a  part  of  each  year  at 
Amesbury,  his  other  home  being  Oak  Knoll 
in  Danvers,  where  he  resides  with  distant 
relatives. 

The  study  at  Amesbury  of  course  pos- 
sesses great  interest  for  us  as  the  place 
where  most  of  the  poet's  finest  lyrics  have 
been  written.  It  is  a  very  cosey  little  study, 
and  is  entered  by  one  door  from  within  and 
another  from  without.  The  upper  half  of  the 
outer  door  is  of  glass.  This  door  is  at  the  end 
of  the  left-hand  porch  shown  in  the  view  on 
page  125.  The  two  windows  in  the  study 
look  out  upon  a  long  strip  of  yard  in  the 
rear  of  the  house,  —  very  pretty  and  quiet, 
and  filled  with  pear-trees  and  other  trees  and 
vines.  Upon  one  side  of  the  room  are 
shelves  holding  five  or  six  hundred  well- 
used  volumes.  Among  them  are  to  be  no- 
ticed Charles  Reade's  novels  and  the  poems 
of  Robert  Browning.  A  side-shelf  is  com- 
pletely filled  with  a  small  blue  and  gold 
edition  of  the  poets.  On  the  walls  hang 
oil  paintings  of  views  on  the  Merrimack 
River  and  other  Essex  County  scenes,  in- 
cluding Mr.  Whittier's  birthplace.  In  one 


138        JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

corner  is  a  handsome  writing-desk,  littered 
with  papers  and  letters.  Upon  the  hearth 
of  the  Franklin  stove,  high  andirons  smile  a 
fireside  welcome  from  their  burnished  brass 
knobs.  Indeed,  everything  in  the  room  is 
as  neat  and  cosey  as  the  wax  cell  of  a  honey- 
bee. And  over  all  is  shed  the  genial  glow 
of  the  gentlest,  tenderest  nature  in  all  the 
land. 

In  the  autumn  of  1844  was  written  "The 
Stranger  in  Lowell,"  a  series  of  light 
sketches  suggested  by  personal  experiences. 
The  style  of  these  essays  reminds  one  of 
that  of  "Twice  Told  Tales,"  but  it  is  not 
so  pure.  The  thought  is  developed  too 
rhetorically,  and  the  essays  betray  the  limi- 
tations attending  the  life  of  a  recluse.  But 
these  sketches  are  interesting  as  exhibitions 
of  the  growth  of  the  author  toward  this 
peculiar  form  of  essay-writing,  and  are 
valuable  on  that  account. 

In  1847  James  G.  Birney's  anti-slavery 
paper,  The  Philanthropist,  published  in 
Cincinnati,  was  merged  with  the  National 
Era,  of  Washington,  D.  C.,  with  Dr.  Gam- 


AMESBURY.  139 

aliel  Bailey  as  managing  editor,  and  John 
G.  Whittier  as  associate  or  corresponding 
editor.  Dr.  Bailey  had  previously  helped 
edit  The  Philanthropist.  Both  papers  were 
treated  to  mobocratic  attacks.  The  Era  be- 
came an  important  organ  of  the  Abolition 
party  in  Washington.  To  it  Mr.  Whittier 
contributed  his  "Old  Portraits  and  Modern 
Sketches  "  as  well  as  other  reform  papers. 

In  the  same  year  (1847)  our  author  pub- 
lished his  "Supernaturalism  of  New  Eng- 
land." [New  York  and  London:  Wiley 
and  Putnam.]  This  pleasant  little  volume 
shows  a  marked  advance  upon  Whittier's 
previous  prose  work.  In  its  nine  chapters 
he  has  preserved  a  number  of  oral  legends 
and  interesting  superstitions  of  the  farmer- 
folk  of  the  Merrimack  region.  Parts  of  the 
work  have  been  quoted  elsewhere  in  this 
volume.  One  of  the  chapters  closes  with 
the  following  fine  passage:  — 

"The  witches  of  Father  Baxter  and  'the 
Black  Man'  of  Cotton  Mather  have  van- 
ished; belief  in  them  is  no  longer  possible 
on  the  part  of  sane  men.  But  this  mysterious 


140        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

universe,  through  which,  half  veiled  in  its 
own  shadow,  our  dim  little  planet  is  wheel- 
ing, with  its  star-worlds  and  thought-weary- 
ing spaces,  remains.  Nature's  mighty  mir- 
acle is  still  over  and  around  us;  and  hence 
awe,  wonder,  and  reverence  remain  to  be 
the  inheritance  of  humanitv:  still  are  there 
beautiful  repentances  and  holy  death-beds, 
and  still  over  the  soul's  darkness  and  confu- 
sion rises  star-like  the  great  idea  of  duty. 
By  higher  and  better  influences  than  the 
poor  spectres  of  superstition  man  must 
henceforth  be  taught  to  reverence  the  Invis- 
ible, and,  in  the  consciousness  of  his  own 
weakness  and  sin  and  sorrow,  to  lean  with 
childlike  trust  on  the  wisdom  and  mercy  of 
an  overruling  Providence." 

In  1849  Mr.  Whittier  collected  and  pub- 
lished his  anti-slavery  poems,  under  the  title 
"Voices  of  Freedom."  The  year  1850 
marks  a  new  era  in  his  poetical  career. 
He  published  at  that  time  his  "Songs  of 
Labor,"  —  a  volume  which  showed  that  his 
mind  had  become  calmed  by  time,  and  was 
now  capable  of  interesting  itself  in  other 
than  reform  subjects. 


AMESBURY.  141 

There  is  not  much  of  outward  incident 
and  circumstance  to  record  of  the  quiet 
poetical  years  passed  since  1840  at  Ames- 
bury  and  Danvers.  Almost  every  year  or 
two  a  new  volume  of  poems  has  been 
issued,  each  one  establishing  on  a  .firmer 
foundation  the  Quaker  Poet's  reputation  as 
a  creator  of  sweet  and  melodious  lyrical 
poetry. 

In  1868  an  institution  called  "Whittier 
College "  was  opened  at  Salem,  Henry 
County,  Iowa.  It  was  founded  in  honor 
of  the  poet,  and  is  conducted  in  accord- 
ance with  the  principles  of  the  Society  of 
Friends. 

In  1871  Whittier  edited  "Child-Life:  A 
Collection  of  Poems,"  by  various  home 
and  foreign  authors.  In  the  same  year  he 
edited,  with  a  long  introduction,  the  "Journal 
of  John  Woolman." 

The  name  John  Woolman  is  not  widely 
known  to  persons  of  the  present  generation; 
and  yet,  as  Whittier  says,  it  was  this  humble 
Quaker  reformer  of  New  Jersey  who  did 
more  than  any  one  else  to  inspire  all  the 
great  modern  movements  for  the  emancipa- 
tion of  slaves,  first  in  the  West  Indies,  then 


142        JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

in  the  United  States,  and  in  Russia.  Warner 
Mifflin,  Jean  Pierre  Brissot,  Thomas  Clark- 
son,  Stephen  Grellet,  William  Allen,  and 
Benjamin  Lundy, —  all  these  philanthropists 
owed  much  of  their  impulse  to  labor  for 
the  freedom  of  the  slave  to  humble  John 
Woolman.  His  journal  or  autobiography 
was  highly  praised  by  Charles  Lamb,  Ed- 
ward Irving,  Crabb  Robinson,  and  others. 
"The  style  is  that  of  a  man  unlettered,  but 
with  natural  refinement  and  delicate  sense 
of  fitness,  the  purity  of  whose  heart  enters 
into  his  language." 

Woolman  was  born  in  Northampton, 
West  Jersey,  in  1720.  One  day,  in  the 
year  1842,  while  clerk  in  a  store  in  the  vil- 
lage of  Mount  Holly,  township  of  Northamp- 
ton, N.  J.,  he  was  asked  by  his  employer 
to  make  out  the  bill  of  sale  of  a  negro.  He 
drew  up  the  instrument,  but  his  conscience 
was  awakened,  and  some  years  after  he 
began  his  life-work  as  a  pedestrian  anti- 
slavery  preacher.  He  refused  to  ride  in,  or 
have  letters  sent  him  by,  the  stage-coaches, 
because  of  the  cruelty  exercised  toward 
the  horses  by  the  drivers.  Neither  would 
he  accept  hospitality  from  those  who  kept 


AMESBURY.  143 

slaves,  always  paying  either  the  owners  or 
the  slaves  for  his  entertainment.  Woolman 
was  most  gentle  and  kind-  in  his  appeals  to 
slave-owners,  and  rarely  met  with  any  vio- 
lent remonstrance.  Much  of  his  work  was 
within  the  limits  of  his  own  sect,  and  Mr. 
Whittier's  introduction  gives  a  valuable  and 
succinct  historical  resume'  of  the  steps 
taken  by  the  Friends  to  rid  their  sect  of  the 
stigma  of  slaveholding. 

Mount  Holly,  in  Woolman's  day,  says 
Whittier,  "was  almost  entirely  a  settle- 
ment of  Friends.  A  very  few  of  the 
old  houses  with  their  quaint  stoops  or 
porches  are  left.  That  occupied  by  John 
Woolman  was  a  small,  plain,  two-story 
structure,  with  two  windows  in  each  story 
in  front,  a  four-barred  fence  enclosing  the 
grounds,  with  the  trees  he  planted  and 
loved  to  cultivate.  The  house  was  not 
painted,  but  whitewashed.  The  name  of 
the  place  is  derived  from  the  highest  hill  in 
the  county,  rising  two  hundred  feet  above 
the  sea,  and  commanding  a  view  of  a  rich 
and  level  country  of  cleared  farms  and 
woodlands." 


144        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

Very  amusing  is  the  picture  given  by  Mr. 
Whittier  of  the  eccentric  Benjamin  Lay, 
once  a  member  of  the  Society  of  Friends  in 
England,  and  afterward  an  inhabitant  for 
some  time  of  the  West  Indies,  whence  he 
was  driven  away  on  account  of  the  violence 
and  extravagance  of  his  denunciations  of 
slavery.  He  was  a  contemporary  of  Wool- 
man.  He  lived  in  a  cave  near  Philadelphia, 
as  a  sort  of  Jonah  or  Elijah,  prophesying 
woe  against  the  city  on  account  of  its  par- 
ticipation in  the  crime  of  slavery.  He  wore 
clothes  made  of  vegetable  fibre,  and  ate  only 
vegetable  food.  "Issuing  from  his  cave,  on 
his  mission  of  preaching  f  deliverance  to  the 
captive,'  he  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting  the 
various  meetings  for  worship  and  bearing 
his  testimony  against  slaveholders,  greatly 
to  their  disgust  and  indignation.  On  one 
occasion  he  entered  the  Market  Street 
Meeting,  and  a  leading  Friend  requested 
some  one  to  take  him  out.  A  burly  black- 
smith volunteered  to  do  it,  leading  him  to 
the  gate  and  thrusting  him  out  with  such 
force  that  he  fell  into  the  gutter  of  the 
street.  There  he  lay  until  the  meeting 
closed,  telling  the  bystanders  that  he  did 


AMESBURY.  145 

not  feel  free  to  rise  himself.  '  Let  those 
who  cast  me  here  raise  me  up.  It  is  their 
business,  not  mine.' 

"His  personal  appearance  was  in  remark- 
able keeping  with  his  eccentric  life.  A 
figure  only  four  and  a  half  feet  high,  hunch- 
backed, with  projecting  chest,  legs  small 
and  uneven,  arms  longer  than  his  legs;  a 
huge  head,  showing  only  beneath  the  enor- 
mous white  hat  large,  solemn  eyes  and  a 
prominent  nose;  the  rest  of  his  face  covered 
with  a  snowy  semicircle  of  beard  falling 
low  on  his  breast,  —  a  figure  to  recall  the 
old  legends  of  troll,  brownie,  and  kobold* 
Such  was  the  irrepressible  prophet  who 
troubled  the  Israel  of  slaveholding  Qua- 
kerism, clinging  like  a  rough  chestnut-burr 
to  the  skirts  of  its  respectability,  and  set- 
tling like  a  pertinacious  gad-fly  on  the  sore 
places  of  its  conscience. 

"On  one  occasion,  while  the  annual  meet- 
ing was  in  session  at  Burlington,  N.  J.,  in 
the  midst  of  the  solemn  silence  of  the  great 
assembly,  the  unwelcome  figure  of  Benja- 
min Lay,  wrapped  in  his  long  white  over- 
coat, was  seen  passing  up  the  aisle.  Stop- 
ping midway,  he  exclaimed,  'You  slave- 
10 


146        JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

holders!  Why  don't  you  throw  off  your 
Quaker  coats  as  I  do  mine,  and  show  your- 
selves as  you  are?'  Casting  off  as  he 
spoke  his  outer  garment,  he  disclosed  to  the 
astonished  assembly  a  military  coat  under- 
neath, and  a  sword  dangling  at  his  heels. 
Holding  in  one  hand  a  large  book,  he  drew 
his  sword  with  the  other.  f  In  the  sight  of 
God,'  he  cried,  'you  are  as  guilty  as  if 
you  stabbed  your  slaves  to  the  heart,  as  I 
do  this  book !  '  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word,  and  piercing  a  small  bladder  filled 
with  the  juice  of  poke-weed  (^phytolacca 
decandra),  v/hich  he  had  concealed  be- 
tween the  covers,  and  sprinkling  as  with 
fresh  blood  those  who  sat  near  him." 

There  is  something  overwhelmingly  ludi- 
crous about  this  bladder  of  poke-weed  juice! 
And  what  a  subject  for  a  painter!  —  the 
portentous,  white-bearded  dwarf  standing 
there  in  the  midst  of  the  church,  in  act 
to  plunge  his  gigantic  sword  tragically 
into  the  innermost  bowels  of  the  crimson 
poke-juice  bladder,  and  from  all  parts  of 
the  house  the  converging  looks  of  the  broad- 
brimmed  and  shovel-bonneted  Quakers! 

Mr.  Whittier  further  says  that  "  Lay  was 


A  MRS  BURY.  147 

well  acquainted  with  Dr.  Franklin,  who 
sometimes  visited  him.  Among  other 
schemes  of  reform  he  entertained  the  idea  of 
converting  all  mankind  to  Christianity.  This 
was  to  be  done  by  three  witnesses, — him- 
self, Michael  Lovell,  and  Abel  Noble, 
assisted  by  Dr.  Franklin.  But,  on  their 
first  meeting  at  the  doctor's  house,  the 
three  f  chosen  vessels '  got  into  a  violent 
controversy  on  points  of  doctrine,  and  sepa- 
rated in  ill-humor.  The  philosopher,  who 
had  been  an  amused  listener,  advised  the 
three  sages  to  give  up  the  project  of  con- 
verting the  world  until  they  had  learned  to 
tolerate  each  other." 

In  1873  Mr.  Whittier  edited  "Child-Life 
in  Prose."  It  is  a  collection  of  pretty  stories, 
chiefly  about  the  childhood  of  various  emi- 
nent persons.  One  of  the  stories  is  by  the 
editor,  and  is  about  "A  Fish  that  I  Didn't 
Catch." 

In  1875  appeared  "Songs  of  Three  Cen- 
turies." The  poet's  design  in  this  work 
was  (to  use  his  own  words)  "to  gather  up 
in  a  comparatively  small  volume,  easily  ac- 
cessible to  all  classes  of  readers,  the  wisest 


148        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

thoughts,  rarest  fancies,  and  devoutest 
hymns  of  the  metrical  authors  of  the  last 
three  centuries."  He  says,  "The  selec- 
tions I  have  made  indicate,  in  a  general 
way,  my  preferences."  It  is  a  choice  col- 
lection, rich  in  lyrical  masterpieces. 


LATER  DAYS.  149 


CHAPTER    VII. 

LATER    DAYS. 

ABOUT  a  mile  westward  from  the  village 
of  Danvers,  Mass.,  a  grassy  road,  named 
Summer  Street,  branches  off  to  the  right 
and  north.  It  is  a  pleasant,  winding  road, 
bordered  by  picturesque  old  stone  fences 
and  lined  with  barberry  and  raspberry  bushes 
and  gnarled  old  apple-trees.  On  either  side 
are  cultivated  fields.  Oak  Knoll,  the  winter 
residence  of  Whittier,  is  the  second  house 
on  the  left,  some  half  a  mile  up  the  road. 

This  fine  old  estate  had  been  occupied 
for  half  a  century  by  a  man  of  wealth  and 
taste.  About  the  year  1875  it  passed  into 
the  hands  of  Col.  Edmund  Johnson,  of 
Boston,  whose  wife  was  Whittier's  cousin. 

It  was  planned  that  the  poet  should  be 
a  member  of  the  household  ;  rooms  were 
set  apart  and  arranged  for  him,  and  he 
gave  the  estate  its  present  name. 


l$O  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIEK. 

It  is  a  spot  full  of  traditions,  and  well 
suited  to  any  poet's  residence,  most  of  all 
for  one  so  versed  in  New  England  legends. 
It  is  the  very  spot  once  occupied  by  the 
Rev.  George  Burroughs,  a  clergyman  who 
was  hung  for  witchcraft  in  1692,  on  the 
charge,  among  other  things,  of  "having 
performed  feats  of  extraordinary  physical 
strength."  He  could  hold  out  a  gun  seven 
feet  long,  tradition  says,  by  putting  his  fin- 
ger in  the  muzzle,  and  could  lift  a  barrel  of 
molasses  in  the  same  way  by  the  bung-hole. 
For  acts  like  these  —  deemed  unclerical,  at 
least,  if  not  unnatural  —  he  was  convicted 
and  hanged ;  and  a  well  on  the  premises  of 
Oak  Knoll  is  still  known  as  the  "witch  well." 

Here,  in  the  home  of  relatives,  the  poet 
has  lived  since  1876.  A  lovelier  and  more 
poetical  place  it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine. 
The  extensive,  carefully  kept  grounds,  and 
the  antique  elegance  of  the  house,  give  to 
the  estate  the  air  of  an  old  English  manor, 
or  gentleman's  country  hall.  The  house  is 
approached  by  a  long,  upward-sweeping  lawn, 
diversified  with  stately  forest  trees,  clumps 
of  evergreens  and  shrubs  and  flowers.  Down 
across  the  road  stands  a  large  and  hand- 


LATER   DAYS. 


153 


some  barn,  which  is  as  neat  as  paint  and 
care  can  make  it.  In  front  of  the  house 
the  eye  ranges  downward  over  an  extensive 
landscape,  as  far  as  to  the  town  of  Pea- 
body,  in  the  direction  of  Salem.  Indeed, 
on  every  side  of  the  estate  there  are  broad 
and  distant  views  of  the  blue  hills  of  Essex 
and  Middlesex. 

In  the  summer,  as  you  ascend  the  carriage- 
road  that  winds  through  the  grounds,  your 
eye  is  captured  by  the  rare  beauty  of  the 
scene.  Yonder  is  a  tall  living  wall  of  ver- 
dure, with  an  archway  cut  through  it.  To 
the  left  the  grounds  sweep  gently  down  to 
a  deep  ravine,  where  a  little  rivulet,  named 
Beaver  Brook,  creeps  leisurely  out  and  winds 
seaward  through  green  and  marish  meadows. 
It  is  in  this  portion  of  the  grounds  that  the 
fine  oak-trees  grow  which  give  to  the  place 
its  name.  Here,  roo,  is  a  large  grove  of 
pines,  with  numerous  seats  within  it.  There 
are  trees  and  trees  at  Oak  Knoll,  —  smooth 
and  shapely  hickories,  glistering  chestnuts 
with  cool  foliage,  maples,  birches,  and  the 
purple  beech.  Add  to  the  picture  the  rural 
accessories  of  bee-haunted  clover-fields,  apple 
and  pear  orchards,  and  beds  of  tempting 


154  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

strawberries.  The  house  is  of  wood,  salmon- 
colored,  with  tall  porches  on  each  side,  up- 
propped  by  stately  Doric  columns.  In  front, 
with  wide  sweep  of  closely  cropped  grass  in- 
tervening, is  the  magnificent  Norway  spruce 
that  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  a  year  or  two 
before  Mr.  Whittier's  death,  on  one  of  those 
periodical  visits  to  his  brother  poet  that  so 
delighted  their  two  souls,  named  "  The  Poets' 
Pagoda."  A  luxuriant  vine  clusters  about 
the  eaves  of  the  house.  On  the  long  porch 
a  mocking-bird  and  a  canary-bird  fill  the 
green  silence  with  gushes  of  melody,  and 
near  at  hand,  in  his  study  in  the  wing  of 
the  building,  sits  one  with  a  singing  pen  and 
listens  to  their  song.  To  their  song  and  to 
the  murmur  of  the  tall  pines  by  his  window 
he  listens,  then  looks  into  his  heart  and 
writes,  —  this  sweet-souled  magician,  —  and 
craftily  imprisons  between  the  covers  of  his 
books,  echoes  of  bird  and  tree  music,  bits 
of  blue  sky,  glimpses  of  green  landscape, 
winding  rivers,  and  idyls  of  the  snow, — all 
suffused  and  interfused  with  a  glowing 
atmosphere  of  human  and  divine  love,  such 
as  the  poet  found  in  this  home  of  his  choos- 
ing at  Oak  Knoll.  It  will  not  perhaps  be 


LATER  DAYS.  155 

intruding  upon  the  privacies  of  home  to  say 
that  the  members  of  the  cultured  household 
at  Oak  Knoll  ever,  found  in  their  happy 
circle,  their  highest  pleasure  in  ministering 
to  all  needs,  social  or  otherwise,  of  their 
loved  cousin  the  poet.  Three  sisters  dis- 
pense the  hospitalities  of  the  house,  and  a 
young  daughter  of  Mrs.  Woodman's  adds 
the  charm  of  girlhood  to  the  family  life. 

Readers  of  Whittier,  who  know  how 
deeply  his  writings  are  tinged  with  the 
scenery,  legendary  lore  and  folk-life  of  his 
native  Merrimack  Valley,  will  not  wonder 
that  a  certain  Heimweh,  or  home-sickness, 
draws  him  northward,  when 


and 


"  Flows  amain 
The  surge  of  summer's  beauty." 


"  Pours  the  deluge  of  the  heat 
Broad  northward  o'er  the  land.' 


It  is  but  one  hour's  ride  by  cars  from 
Danvers  to  Amesbury;  and  part  of  the  time 
in  the  latter  place,  and  part  of  the  time  at 


!56  LATER  DAYS. 

the  Isles  of  Shoals,  and  in  the  beautiful 
lake  and  mountain  region  of  New  Hamp- 
shire, Mr.  Whittier  passes  the  warm  sea- 
son. For  many  years  it  was  his  custom  to 
spend  a  portion  of  each  summer  at  the  Bear- 
camp  River  House,  in  West  Ossipee,  N.  H., 
some  thirty  miles  north  of  Lake  Winni- 
piseogee.  The  hotel  was  situated  on  a  slight 
eminence,  commanding  a  view  of  towering 
"Mount  Israel"  and  of  "Whittier  Moun- 
tain," named  after  the  poet.  It  is  a  region 
full  of  noble  prospects,  being  just  in  the  out- 
skirts of  the  White  Mountain  group.  Sev- 
eral of  the  poems  of  Whittier  were  inspired 
by  this  scenery,  notably  "Among  the  Hills," 
"Sunset  on  the  Bearcamp,"  and  "The  Seek- 
ing of  the  Waterfall."  In  the  first  of  these 
we  read  how  — 

"Through  Sandwich  notch  the  west-wind  sang," 
and  — 

"Above  his  broad  lake  Ossipee, 

Once  more  the  sunshine  wearing, 
Stooped,  tracing  on  that  silver,  shield 
His  grim  armorial  bearing." 

"Sunset    on    the    Bearcamp"  contains   a 


JOHN  GREENLEAF    WHITTIER,         157 

stanza  considered  by  some  to  be  one  of  the 
poet's  finest:  — 

"  Touched  by  a  light  that  hath  no  name, 

A  glory  never  sung, 
Aloft  on  sky  and  mountain  wall 

Are  God's  great  pictures  hung. 
How  changed  the  summits  vast  and  old ! 

No  longer  granite-browed, 
They  melt  in  rosy  mist ;  the  rock 

Is  softer  than  the  cloud ; 
The  valley  holds  its  breath ;  no  leaf 

Of  all  its  elms  is  twirled  : 
The  silence  of  eternity 

Seems  falling  on  the  world." 

The  Bearcamp  River  House  (now  no 
more)  was  a  hostelry  whose  site,  antique 
hospitality,  and  eminent  guests  were  every 
whit  as  worthy  to  be  embalmed  in  lasting 
verse  as  were  those  of  the  Wayside  Inn  of 
Sudbury.  Before  the  red,  crackling  flames 
of  its  huge  fireplace  such  literary  characters 
as  Whittier,  Gail  Hamilton,  Lucy  Larcom, 
and  Hiram  Rich  used  to  gather  on  chill  sum- 
mer evenings  for  the  kind  of  talks  that  only 
a  wood  fire  can  inspire.  The  Quaker  poet 
is  a  charming  conversationalist,  and  can 
tell  a  story  as  capitally  as  he  can  write  one. 


158  LATER  DAYS. 

He  has  a  goodly  repertoire  of  ghost  tales 
and  legends  of  the  marvellous.  One  of  his 
best  stones  is  about  a  scene  that  took  place 
in  Independence  Hall  in  Philadelphia,  when 
the  court  remanded  a  negro  to  slavery.  The 
poet  says  that  an  old  sailor  who  was  present 
became  so  infuriated  by  the  spectacle  that  he 
made  the  air  blue  with  oaths  uttered  in  seven 
different  languages.* 

December  17,  1877,  was  the  poet's  seven- 
tieth birthday,  and  the  occasion  was  cele- 
brated in  a  twofold  manner,  namely,  by  a 
Whittier  Tribute  in  the  Literary  World, 
and  by  a  Whittier  Banquet  given  at  the 
Hotel  Brunswick,  in  Boston,  by  Messrs. 
H.  O.  Houghton  and  Co.,  the  publishers 
of  Whittier's  works.  The  Literary  World 
tribute  contained  poems  by  Henry  AVads- 
worth  Longfellow,  Bayard  Taylor,  E.  C. 
Stedman,  O.  W.  Holmes,  William  Lloyd 
Garrison,  and  others.  Mr.  Longfellow's 
poem,  "The  Three  Silences,"  is  one  of  un- 
usual beauty. 

*  For  these  details  about  days  on  the  Bearcamp,  the  writer 
is  indebted  to  Dr.  Robert  R.  Andrews,  an  acquaintance  ot 
the  poet. 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.         159 

THE   THREE   SILENCES    OF    MOLINOS. 

"  Three  Silences  there  are  :  the  first  of  speech, 
The  second  of  desire,  the  third  of  thought ; 
This  is  the  lore  a  Spanish  monk,  distraught 
With  dreams  and  visions,  was  the  first  to  teach. 

These  Silences,  commingling  each  with  each 
Made  up  the  perfect  Silence,  that  he  sought 
And  prayed  for,  and  wherein  at  times  he  caught 
Mysterious  sounds  from  realms  beyond  our  reach. 

O  thou,  whose  daily  life  anticipates 
The  life  to  come,  and  in  whose  thought  and  word 
The  spiritual  world  preponderates, 

Hermit  of  Amesbury  !  thou  too  hast  heard 
Voices  and  melodies  from  beyond  the  gates, 
And  speakest  only  when  thy  soul  is  stirred !  " 

There  were  letters  from  the  poet  Bryant, 
the  historian  George  Bancroft,  Colonel  T.  W. 
Higginson,  and  Mrs.  H.  B.  Stowe;  and  there 
was  a  pleasant  description  of  the  Danvers 
home  by  Charles  B.  Rice.  Mr.  Whittier's 
"  Response  "  was  published  in  the  January 
number  of  the  paper: — 

"  Beside  that  milestone  where  the  level  sun, 

Nigh  unto  setting,  sheds  his  last,  low  rays 
On  word  and  work  irrevocably  done, 
Life's  blending  threads  of  good  and  ill  outspun, 

I  hear,  O  friends  !  your  words  of  cheer  and  praise, 
Half  doubtful  if  myself  or  otherwise. 
Like  him  who,  in  the  old  Arabian  joke, 
A  beggar  slept  and  crowned  Caliph  woke." 


l6o  LATER  DAYS. 

The  anniversary  of  the  founding  of  the 
Atlantic  Monthly  happening  to  be  syn- 
chronous with  Whittier's  birthday,  the  pub- 
lishers determined  to  make  a  double  festival 
of  the  occasion.  The  gathering  at  the  Hotel 
Brunswick  was  a  brilliant  one,  and  the  invi- 
tations were  not  limited  by  any  clique  or  any 
sectional  lines. 

In  this  same  month  the  admirers  of 
Mr.  Whittier  in  Haverhill,  Newburyport, 
and  neighboring  towns,  formed  a  Whittier 
Club,  its  annual  meetings  to  be  held  on 
December  17. 

The  ladies  of  Amesbury  presented  to 
the  poet  on  his  birthday  a  richly  finished 
Russia-leather  portfolio,  containing  four- 
teen beautiful  sketches  in  water-colors  of 
scenes  in  and  about  Amesbury,  by  a  tal- 
ented Amesbury  artist.  The  subjects  of  the 
sketches  are  those  scenes  which  he  has 
immortalized  in  his  poems,  and  include  his 
home,  birthplace,  the  old  school-house, 
old  Quaker  Meeting-House,  Rivermouth 
Rocks,  etc.  The  portfolio  was  presented 
to  him  at  Oak  Knoll,  accompanied  by  a 
basket  of  exquisite  flowers. 

Since  taking  up  his  residence  in  Danvers, 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.         l6i 

the  poet  has  published  "  The  Vision  of 
Echard,  and  Other  Poems,"  —  including 
the  beautiful  ballad,  "The  Witch  of  Wen- 
ham,"  —  and  "The  King's  Missive,  and 

Other  Poems." 

11 


1 62  PERSONAL. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

PERSONAL. 

As  a  boy,  Whittier  grew  up  slender, 
delicate,  and  shy,  with  dark  hair  and  dark 
eyes;  his  nature  silent  and  brooding, 
gentle,  compassionate,  religious,  and  sen- 
sitive to  the  beauty  of  the  external  world. 
He  is  of  the  nervous  temperament,  and 
his  health  has  never  been  robust.  Indeed, 
in  later  life  the  state  of  his  health  has  often 
been  precarious,  and  his  plans  for  work 
have  been  at  the  mercy  of  his  nerves.  As 
a  young  man,  and  crowned  Laureate  of 
Freedom,  Whittier  must  have  presented  a 
striking  appearance,  with  his  raven  hair,  and 
glittering  black  eyes  flashing  with  the  inspi- 
ration of  a  great  cause.  Mr.  J.  Miller  Mc- 
Kim,  a  member  with  Whittier  of  the 
famous  Anti-Slavery  Convention  held  in 
Philadelphia  in  1833,  thus  describes  the 
poet:  — 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.         163 

"  He  wore  a  dark  frock-coat  with  stand- 
ing collar,  which,  with  his  thin  hair,  dark 
and  sometimes  flashing  eyes,  and  black 
whiskers,  —  not  large,  but  noticeable  in 
those  unhirsute  days,  —  gave  him,  to  my 
then  unpractised  eye,  quite  as  much  of  a 
military  as  a  Quaker  aspect.  His  broad, 
square  forehead  and  well-cut  features, 
aided  by  his  incipient  reputation  as  a  poet, 
made  him  quite  a  noticeable  feature  in  the 


Frederika  Bremer,  in  her  "Sketches  of 
American  Homes,"  gives  an  outline  portrait 
of  Whittier  as  he  appeared  when  forty 
years  of  age:  — 

"He  has  a  good  exterior,  a  figure  slen- 
der and  tall,  a  beautiful  head  with  refined 
features,  black  eyes  full  of  fire,  dark  com- 
plexion, a  fine  smile,  and  lively  but  very 
nervous  manner.  Both  soul  and  spirit  have 
overstrained  the  nervous  cords  and  wasted 
the  body.  He  belongs  to  those  natures 
who  would  advance  with  firmness  and 
joy  to  martyrdom  in  a  good  cause,  and  yet 
who  are  never  comfortable  in  society,  and 
who  look  as  if  they  would  run  out  of  the 


1 64  PERSONAL. 

door  every  moment.  He  lives  with  his 
mother  and  sister  in  a  country-house  to 
which  I  have  promised  to  go.  I  feel  that 
I  should  enjoy  myself  with  Whittier,  and 
could  make  him  feel  at  ease  with  me.  I 
know  from  my  own  experience  what  this 
nervous  bashfulness,  caused  by  the  over- 
exertion  of  the  brain,  requires,  and  how 
persons  who  suffer  therefrom  ought  to  be 
met  and  treated." 

George  W.  Bungay,  in  his  "  Crayon 
Sketches"  of  distinguished  Americans,  pub- 
lished in  1852,  gives  the  following  pict- 
ure of  Whittier:  "His  temperament  is 
nervous-bilious;  [he]  is  tall,  slender  and 
straight  as  an  Indian;  has  a  superb  head; 
his  brow  looks  like  a  white  cloud  under 
his  raven  hair;  eyes  large,  black  as  sloes, 
and  glowing  with  expression,  —  ...  those 
starlike  eyes  flashing  under  such  a  magnifi- 
cent forehead." 

A  writer  in  the  Democratic  Review  for 
August,  1845,  speaks  of  "the  fine  intel- 
lectual beauty  of  his  expression,  the  blend- 
ing brightness  and  softness  of  the  clear  dark 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   IVHITTIER.          165 

eye,  the  union  of  manly  firmness  and  cour- 
age with  womanly  sweetness  and  tenderness 
alike  in  countenance  and  character." 

Mr.  David  A.  Wasson  says  that  Whittier 
is  of  the  Saracenic  or  Hebrew  prophet  type: 
"The  high  cranium,  so  lofty,  especially 
in  the  dome,  —  the  slight  and  symmetrical 
backward  slope  of  the  -whole  head, —  the 
powerful  level  brows,  and  beneath  these  the 
dark,  deep  eyes,  so  full  of  shadowed  fire, — 
the  Arabian  complexion,  —  the  sharp-cut, 
intense  lines  of  the  face,  —  the  light,  tall, 
erect  stature, —  the  quick,  axial  poise  of  the 
movement," — all  these  traits  reveal  the  fiery 
Semitic  prophet. 

The  long  backward  and  upward  slope 
of  the  head,  alluded  to  by  Mr.  Wasson,  is 
very  striking.  It  is  the  head  of  Walter 
Scott  or  of  Emerson.  Whittier  is  now  an 
old  man,  somewhat  hard  of  hearing,  and 
with  the  fixed  sadness  of  time  upon  his 
pleasant  face.  But  ever  and  anon,  as  you 
converse  with  him,  his  countenance  is  irra- 
diated by  a  sudden  smile,  sweet  and  strange 
and  full  of  benignity,  —  like  a  waft  of  per- 


1 66  PERSONAL. 

fume  from  a  bed  of  white  violets,  or  a  glint 
of  rich  sunlight  on  an  April  day.  His  is  one 
of  those  Emersonian  natures  that  everybody 
loves  at  first  sight.  The  very  mole  under 
the  right  eye  seems  somehow  the  birth-mark 
or  sign-manual  of  kindliness.  The  quaint 
grammatical  solecisms  of  the  Quaker  and  the 
New  England  farmer — the  "thee's"  and  the 
omission  of  the  ^'s  from  present  participles 
and  other  words  ending  in  "  ing  "  —  give 
to  the  poet's  conversation  a  certain  slight 
piquancy  and  picturesqueness.*  About  half- 
past  nine  every  morning,  when  at-Amesbury, 
Mr.  Whittier  walks  down  for  the  mail  and 
the  news,  and  perhaps  has  a  chat  with  some 
neighbor  on  the  street,  or  with  the  country 
editor  who  is  setting  up  in  type  his  own 
editorials  while  he  grimly  rolls  his  quid  of 
tobacco  in  his  cheek.  In  the  spring  and 

*  The  writer  remembers  once  speaking  with  a  laborer  whom 
Mr.  Whittier  had  employed.  The  good  fellow  could  not 
conceal  his  admiration  for  the  poet,  "Why,"  he  said,  "you 
wouldn't  think  it,  would  you,  but  he  talks  just  like  com- 
mon folks.  We  was  talkin'  about  the  apples  one  day,  and 
he  said,  '  Some  years  they  ain't  wuth  pickin',' — just  like  any- 
body, you  know;  ain't  stuck  up  at  all,  and  yet  he's  a  great 
man,  you  know.  He  likes  to  talk  with  farmers  and  common 
folks;  he  don't  go  much  with  the  bigbugs;  —  one  of  the 
nicest  men,  and  liberal  with  his  money,  too." 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.         167 

early  summer  the  poet's  dress  will  be  after 
this  fashion:  black  coat  and  vest,  gray  pant- 
aloons, cinnamon-colored  overcoat,  drab  tile 
hat,  and  perhaps  a  small  gray  tippet  around 
his  neck.  As  he  walks,  he  salutes  those 
whom  he  meets  with  a  little  jerky  bow.  A 
forty  years'  residence  in  Amesbury  has  made 
him  acquainted  with  almost  everybody, 
and  he  might,  therefore,  very  properly  be 
somewhat  economical  of  exertion  in  his 
salutations.  But  his  abrupt  bow  is  really 
the  expression  of  that  unbending  recti- 
tude and  noble  pride  in  individual  free- 
dom that  made  him  the  reformer  and  the 
poet  of  liberty.  As  a  single  instance  of 
Whittier's  kind-heartedness,  take  the  fol- 
lowing incident,  narrated  by  an  anonymous 
writer  in  the  Literary  World  for  Decem- 
ber, 1877:  "When  I  was  a  young  man 
trying  to  get  an  education,  I  went  about 
the  country  peddling  sewing-silk  to  help 
myself  through  college;  and  one  Satur- 
day night  found  me  at  Amesbury,  a 
stranger  and  without  a  lodging-place.  It 
happened  that  the  first  house  at  which  I 
called  was  Whittier's,  and  he  himself  came 
to  the  door.  On  hearing  my  request  he 


1 68  PERSOXAL. 

said  he  was  very  sorry  that  he  could  not 
keep  me,  but  it  was  quarterly  meeting  and 
his  house  was  full.  He,  however,  took  the 
trouble  to  show  me  to  a  neighbor's,  where 
he  left  me;  but  that  did  not  seem  to  wholly 
suit  his  idea  of  hospitality,  for  in  the  course 
of  the  evening  he  made  his  appearance, 
saying  that  it  had  occurred  to  him  that  he 
could  sleep  on  a  lounge,  and  give  up  his 
own  bed  to  me,  —  which  it  is,  perhaps,  need- 
'less  to  say,  was  not  allowed.  But  this  was 
not  all.  The  next  morning  he  came  again, 
with  the  suggestion  that  I  might  perhaps 
like  to  attend  meeting,  inviting  me  to  go 
with  him;  and  he  gate  me  a  seat  next  to 
himself.  The  meeting  lasted  an  hour,  during 
which  there  was  not  a  word  spoken  by  any 
one.  We  all  sat  in  silence  that  length  of 
time,  then  all  arose,  shook  hands  and  dis- 
persed; and  I  remember  it  as  one  of  the 
best  meetings  I  ever  attended." 

Dom  Pedro  II.,  Emperor  of  Brazil,  is  a 
reader  of  Mr.  Whittier's  poems,  and  an 
ardent  admirer  of  his  genius.  He  has 
exchanged  letters  with  him,  both  in  re- 
gard to  poetry  and  to  the  emancipation  of 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.         169 

slaves.*  When  his  Majesty  was  in  this 
country,  in  1876,  he  expressed  a  wish  to 
meet  Mr.  Whittier,  and  on  Wednesday 
evening,  June  14,  a  little  reception  was  ar- 
ranged by  Mrs.  John  T.  Sargent  at  her 
Chestnut  Street  home,  a  few  prominent  per- 
sons having  been  invited  to  be  present. 
"  When  the  Emperor  arrived,  the  other 
guests  had  already  assembled.  Sending  up 
his  card,  his  Majesty  followed  it  with  the 
quickness  of  an  enthusiastic  school-boy;  and 
his  first  question,  after  somewhat  hastily 
paying  his  greetings,  was  for  Mr.  Whittier. 
The  poet  stepped  forward  to  meet  his  im- 
perial admirer,  who  would  fain  have  caught 
him  in  his  arms  and  embraced  him  warmly, 
with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  the  Latin  race. 
The  diffident  Friend  seemed  somewhat 
abashed  at  so  demonstrative  a  greeting,  but 
with  a  cordial  grasp  of  the  hand  drew  Dom 
Pedro  to  the  sofa,  where  the  two  chatted 
easily  and  with  the  familiarity  of  old 
friends. 

"  The  rest  of  the  company  allowed  them 

*  The  Emperor  has  translated  Whittier's  "  Cry  of  a  Lost 
Soul "  into  Portuguese,  and  has  sent  to  the  poet  several  speci- 
mens of  the  Amazonian  bird  whose  peculiar  note  suggested 
the  poem. 


1 70  PERSONAL. 

to  enjoy  their  tete-a-tete  for  some  half  hour, 
when  they  ventured  to  interrupt  it,  and  the 
Emperor  joined  very  heartily  in  a  general 
conversation." 

As  the  Emperor  was  driving  away,  he 
was  seen  standing  erect  in  his  open  ba- 
rouche, and  "  waving  his  hat,  with  a  seem- 
ing hurrah,  at  the  house  which  held  his 
venerable  friend."  * 

As  a  specimen  of  Mr.  Whittier's  genial 
and  winning  epistolary  style,  it  is  permissi- 
ble to  quote  here  a  letter  of  his,  addressed  to 
Mrs.  John  T.  Sargent,  and  included  by  her 
in  her  sketches  of  the  Radical  Club:  — 

"  AMESBURY,  Wednesday  Eve. 

"  MY  DEAR  MRS.  SARGENT,  —  Few 
stronger  inducements  could  be  held  out  to 
me  than  that  in  thy  invitation  to  meet  Lu- 
cretia  Mott  and  Mary  Carpenter.  But  I  do 
not  see  that  I  can  possibly  go  to  Boston  this 
week.  None  the  less  do  I  thank  thee,  my 
dear  friend,  in  thinking  of  me  in  connection 
with  their  visit. 

*  Mrs.  Sargent's  "  Sketches  and  Reminiscences  of  the 
Radical  Club,"  pp.  301,  302. 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.         171 

"  My  love  to  Lucretia  Mott.  and  tell  her  I 
have  never  forgotten  the  kind  welcome  and 
generous  sympathy  she  gave  the  young 
abolitionist  at  a  time  when  he  found  small 
favor  with  his  ? orthodox'  brethren.  \Vhat 
a  change  she  and  I  have  lived  to  see!  I 
hope  to  meet  Miss  Carpenter  before  she 
leaves  us.  For  this,  and  for  all  thy  kind- 
ness in  times  past,  believe  me  gratefully 
thy  friend, 

"JOHN  G.  WHITTIER." 

The  modesty  and  shyness  of  the  poet 
have  already  been  more  than  once  alluded 
to.  They  form  his  most  distinctive  per- 
sonal or  constitutional  peculiarity.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  quote  from  his  writings  to 
illustrate  what  is  patent  to  everybody  who 
reads  his  books,  or  knows  anything  about 
him. 

The  poet's  personal  friends  know  well 
that  he  has  a  good  deal  of  genial,  mellow 
humorousness  in  his  nature.  To  get  an 
idea  of  it,  read  his  charming  prose  sketches 
of  home  and  rural  life,  and  such  poems  as 
the  whimsical,  enigmatical  "Demon  of  the 
Study," as  well  as  "The  Pumpkin,"  "To  My 


172  PERSONAL. 

Old  Schoolmaster,"  and  the  "Double- 
Headed  Snake  of  Newbury."  These 
poems  almost  equal  «Holmes's  for  rich  and 
riant  humor. 

It  is  not  so  well  known  as  it  ought  to  be 
that  the  author  of  "  Snow-Bound  "  has  as 
deep  a  love  of  children  as  had  Longfellow. 
Before  the  Bearcamp  House  was  burned 
to  the  ground  in  1880,  Mr.  Whittier  used 
sometimes  to  come  up  from  Amesbury  with 
a  whole  bevy  of  little  misses  about  him, 
and  at  the  hotel  the  wee  folk  hailed  him 
as  one  of  those  dear  old  fellows  whom  they 
always  love  at  sight.  It  is  said  that  Edward 
Lear  —  the  friend  of  Tennyson,  and  author 
of  "  Nonsense  Verses  "  for  children  —  used 
to  make  a  hobby-horse  of  himself  in  the 
castles  of  Europe,  and  treat  his  little  friends 
to  a  gallop  over  the  carpet  on  his  back.  If 
Mr.  "Whittier  never  got  quite  so  far  as  this 
in  juvenile  equestrianism,  he  has  at  least 
equally  endeared  himself  to  the  children 
who  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  look  into 
his  loving  eyes  and  enjoy  the  sunshine  of 
his  smile.  When  sitting  by  the  fireside,  or 
stretched  at  ease  on  the  fragrant  hay  in  the 
barn  or  field,  or  walking  among  the  hills, 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.         173 

nothing  pleases  him  better  than  to  have  an 
audience  of  young  folks  eagerly  listening  to 
one  of  his  stories.  If  they  are  engaged  in 
a  game  of  archery,  he  will  take  a  hand  in 
the  sport,  and  no  one  is  better  pleased  than 
he  to  hit  the  white.  His  unfailing  kindness 
in  answering  the  many  letters  addressed 
to  him  by  young  literary  aspirants,  or  by 
others  who  desire  his  advice  and  help,  is 
something  admirable:  no  one  knows  how 
to  win  hearts  better  than  he. 

To  these  notes  of  personal  traits  it  only 
remains  to  add  a  list  of  the  offices  of  dig- 
nity and  honor  which  have  been  held  by 
Mr.  Whittier.  Besides  his  various  edito- 
rial, secretarial,  and  legislative  positions,  he 
served  as  Overseer  of  Harvard  College 
from  1858  to  1863.  He  was  a  member  of 
the  Electoral  College  in  1860  and  in  1864. 
The  degree  of  Master  of  Arts  was  be- 
stowed upon  him  by  Harvard  College  in 
1860,  and  the  same  degree  by  Haverford 
College  in  the  same  year.  He  was  elected 
a  resident  member  of  the  American  Philo- 
sophical Society  in  1864,  but  never  accepted 
the  honor,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  his 


PERSONAL. 


name  appeared  for  two  or  three  years  on 
the  Society's  roll.  In  1871  he  was  made  a 
Fellow  of  the  American  Academy  of  Arts 
and  Sciences. 


PART  II. 

ANALYSIS  OF  HIS  GENIUS  AND  WRITINGS. 


THE  MAN. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE    MAN. 

"Not  by  the.  page  -word-painted 
Let  life  be  banned  or  sainted : 
Deeper  than  •written  scroll 
The  colors  of  the  soul." 

MY  TRIUMPH. 

To  analyze  and  describe  the  -poetry  of 
Whittier  is  a  comparatively  easy  task,  for  it  ^ 
is  all  essentially  lyrical  or  descriptive,  and  is 
resolvable  into  a  few  simple  elements.  His 
poetry  is  not  profound;  but  it  is  sweet  and 
melodious,  —  now  flashing  with  the  fire  of 
freedom  and  choked  with  passionate  in- 
dignation, and  now  purling  and  rippling 
through  the  tranquil  meadows  of  legend  and 
song.  Such  a  poem  as  Emerson's  "  Sphinx," 
groaning  with  its  weight  of  mystical  mean- 
ing, Whittier  never  wrote,  nor  could  write. 
Neither  is  he  dramatic,  nor  skilled  in  the 
subtile  harmonies  of  rhythm  and  metre. 
As  an  artist  he  is  easily  comprehensible. 


178        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

But  to  fathom  the  man,  —  to  drop  one's 
plummet  into  the  infinite  depths  of  the 
human  mind,  to  peer  about  with  one's  little 
candle  among  the  dusty  phantoms  and  spent 
forces  of  the  past,  and  through  the  end- 
lessly crossing  and  interblending  meshes 
trace  confidently  up  all  the  greater  and 
the  finer  hereditary  influences  that  have 
moulded  a  human  character,  —  and  then 
discover  and  weigh  the  post-natal  forces 
that  have  acted  upon  that  character  through 
a  long  and  varied  life,  —  this  is  a  very  dif- 
ficult task,  and  demands  in  him  who  would 
undertake  it  a  union  of  historic  imagina- 
tion with  caution  and  modesty. 

The  moral  in  Whittier  predominates 
over  the  aesthetic,  the  reformer  over  the 
artist.  w  I  am  a  man,  and  I  feel  that  I  am 
above  all  else  a  man."  What  is  the  great 
central  element  in  our  poet's  character,  if 
it  is  not  that  deep,  never-smouldering  moral 
fervor,  that  unquenchable  love  of  freedom, 
that  — 

"  Hate  of  tyranny  intense, 
And  hearty  in  its  vehemence," 

which,  mixed  with  the  beauty  and  melody 


THE  MAN.  l8l 

of  his  soul,  gives  to  his  pages  a  delicate 
glow  as  of  gold-hot  iron;  which  crowns 
him  the  Laureate  of  Freedom  in  his  day, 
and  imparts  to  his  utterances  the  manly 
ring  of  the  prose  of  Milton  and  Hugo  and 
the  poetry  of  Byron,  Swinburne,  and 
Whitman, —  all  poets  of  freedom  like  him- 
self ? 

And  what  is  love  of  freedom  but  the 
mainspring  of  Democracy?  And  what  is 
Democracy  but  the  rallying-cry  of  the  age, 
the  one  word  of  the  present,  the  one  word 
of  the  future,  the  word  of  all  words,  and 
the  wrhite,  electric  beacon-light  of  modern 
life? 

At  the  apex  of  modern  Democracy  stands 
Jesus  of  Nazareth;  at  its  base  stand  the 
poets  and  heroes  of  freedom  of  the  past 
hundred  years.  Christian  Democracy  has 
had  its  revolutions,  its  religious  ferments 
and  revolts,  and  its  emancipations  of  slaves. 
Quakerism  is  one  of  its  outcomes.  Democ- 
racy produced  George  Fox;  George  Fox 
produced  Quakerism;  Quakerism  produced 
Whittier;  Whittier  helped  destroy  slavery. 
He  could  not  help  doing  so,  for  with  slavery 
both  Democracy  and  Quakerism  are  in- 


7 

1 82         JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

compatible.  Whittier  fought  slavery  as  a 
Quaker,  he  has  lived  as  a  Quaker,  and  writ- 
ten as  a  Quaker;  he  has  never  fully  eman- 
cipated himself  from  the  shackles  of  the 
sect.  To  understand  him,  therefore,  we  must 
understand  his  religion. 

The  principles  of  the  sect  are  all  summed 
up  in  the  phrases  Freedom  and  the  Inner 
Light.  Historically  considered,  Quaker- 
ism is  a  product  of  the  ferment  that  fol- 
lowed the  civil  war  in  England  two  centu- 
ries ago.  Considered  abstractly,  or  as  a 
congeries  of  principles,  it  has  a  sociological 
and  a  philosophical  root,  both  of  these 
running  back  into  the  great  tap-root,  love 
of  freedom,  whose  iron-tough,  writhen 
fibres  enwrap  the  dark  foundation  rocks  of 
human  nature  itself. 

Sociologically  speaking,  Quakerism  is 
pure  democracy,  an  exaltation  of  the  maj- 
esty of  the  individual  and  of  the  mass  of  the 
people.  It  is  the  pure  precipitate  of  Chris- 
tianity. It  is  a  protest  against  the  hypoc- 
risy, formalism,  tyranny,  of  priestcraft,  king- 
craft, and  aristocracy. 

Philosophically,   its    theory  of  the    Inner 


THE  MAN-  183 

Light  is  identical  with  the  doctrine  of 
idealism  or  innate  ideas,  held  by  Descartes, 
Fichte,  Schelling,  Cousin.  It  means  indi- 
vidualism, a  return  to  the  primal  sanities  of 
the  soul.  "I  think,  therefore  I  am."  My 
thinking  soul  is  the  ultimate  source  of 
ideas  and  truth.  In  that  serene  holy  of 
holies  full-grown  ideas  leap  into  being, — 
subjective,  a  priori,  needing  no  sense-per- 
ception for  their  genesis. 

But  Transcendentalism  differed  from 
Quakerism  in  this:  the  former  held  that  the 
illumination  of  the  mind  was  a  natural  pro- 
cess; but  Quakerism  maintains  that  it  is  a 
supernatural  process,  the  work  of  the  "  Holy 
Ghost."  And  herein  Quakerism  is  inferior 
to  Transcendentalism.  But  it  is  superior  to 
it  in  that  it  does  not  believe  in  the  infalli- 
bility of  individual  intuitions,  but  considers 
the  true  criterion  of  truth  to  be  the  universal 
reason,  the  "consensus  of  the  competent." 
Yet  the  great  danger  that  pertains  to  ail 
moonshiny,  or  subjective,  systems  of  philos- 
ophy is  that  their  individualism  will  spindle 
out  into  wild  extravagances  of  theory,  and 
foolish  eccentricities  of  manner  and  dress; 
and  we  shall  find  that,  practically,  Quaker- 


1 84        JOfffr  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

ism  has  as  Quixotic  a  record  as  Transcen- 
dentalism. To  say  that  both  systems  have 
performed  noble  and  indispensable  service 
in  the  development  of  mind  is  but  to  utter 
a  truism. 

We  may  now  consider  a  little  more 
closely  the  peculiarities  of  doctrine  and  life 
which  characterize  the  Friends.  The  doc- 
trine of  the  Inner  Light,  or  pure  spiritual- 
ity, resulted  in  such  tenets  as  these:  the 
freedom  of  conscience;  the  soul  the  foun- 
tain of  all  truth,  worthlessness  of  tradition 
and  unsanctified  learning  ;  the  conscience 
or  voice  within  the  judge  of  the  Bible  or 
Written  Word  ;  disbelief  in  witchcraft, 
ghosts,  and  other  superstitions;  love  of 
friends  and  enemies,  the  potency  of 
moral  suasion,  moral  ideas,  and  as  a  con- 
sequence the  wickedness  of  war,  and  a 
belief  in  human  progress  as  the  result  of 
peaceable  industry;  universal  enfranchise- 
ment, every  man  and  woman  may  be  en- 
lightened by  the  Inner  Light,  —  hence 
equality  of  privilege,  no  distinction  between 
clergy  or  laity  or  between  sex  and  sex, — 
the  right  of  woman  to  develop  her  entire 


THE   MAN.  !85 

nature  as  she  sees  fit.  In  the  principles 
which  define  the  attitude  of  the  Quaker 
toward  social  conventions,  we  find  a  queer 
jumble  of  the  doctrines  of  primitive  Chris- 
tianity with  the  ideas  of  individual  indepen- 
dence innate  in  the  Germanic  mind,  and 
especially  in  the  popular  mind.*  The  Chris- 
tian gospel  of  love  forbids  the  Quakers  to 
countenance  war,  capital  punishment,  im- 
prisonment for  debt,  slavery,  suppressment 
of  the  right  of  free  speech  and  the  right  of 
petition.  Their  doctrine  of  equality  in  vir- 
tue of  spiritual  illumination  forbids  them  to 
remove  their  hats  in  presence  of  any  human 
being,  even  a  king;  leads  them  to  avoid  the 
use  of  the  plural  "you,"  as  savoring  of 
man-worship,  and  to  refuse  to  employ  a 
hired  priesthood.  Their  doctrine  of  pure 
spirituality  is  inconsistent  with  sacerdotal 

*  The  same  sterling  material  that  went  to  the  making  of  the 
Quaker  went  also  to  the  making  of  the  Puritan  farmer-and-arti- 
san  victors  of  Naseby,  and  Worcester,  and  Marston  Moor.  The 
same  faults  characterized  each  class.  In  stiff-backed  inde- 
pendence and  scorn  of  the  gilt-edged  poetry  of  conventional 
manners,  and  in  the  absurd  extreme  to  which  they  carried 
that  independence  and  scorn,  the  Quaker  and  the  Puritan 
were  alike.  Only  the  Quaker  out-puritanqd  the  Puritan,  — 
was  mucn  more  consistent  in  his  fanatical  purism,  scrawny 
asceticism,  and  contempt  for  distinguished  manners  and  the 
noble  imaginative  arts. 


1 86        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

rites  and  mummeries,  such  as  baptism,  the 
eucharist,  forms  of  common  prayer,  etc. 
Music,  poetry,  painting,  and  dancing  also 
have  a  worldly  savor  and  tend  to  distract  the 
mind  from  its  spiritual  life.  So  do  rich  and 
gaudy  robes:  we  must  therefore  have  sim- 
plicity of  dress.  Hear  William  Penn  on 
this  subject:* — 

"I  say,  if  sin  brought  the  first  coat,  poor 
Adam's  offspring  have  little  reason  to  be 
proud  or  curious  in  their  clothes.  ...  It 
is  all  one  as  if  a  man  who  had  lost  his 
nose  by  a  scandalous  distemper,  should  take 
pains  to  set  out  a  false  one,  in  such  shape 
and  splendor  as  should  give  the  greater 
occasion  for  all  to  gaze  upon  him;  as  if  he 
would  tell  them  he  had  lost  his  nose,  for 
fear  they  would  think  he  had  not.  But 
would  a  wise  man  be  in  love  with  a  false 
nose,  though  ever  so  rich,  and  however 
finely  made?" 

A  natural  corollary  of  the  Friends'  doc- 
trine of  inward  supernatural  illumination  is 
their  habit  of  silent  worship,  or  silent  wait- 

*  In  his  work  "  No  Cross,  No  Crown." 


THE  MAN.  187 

ing.*  It  is  probable  that  this  leature  of 
their  religious  gatherings  has  done  much  to 
cultivate  that  peculiar  tranquillity  of  de- 
meanor which  distinguishes  them.f  They 
meet  the  burdens,  bereavements,  and  disap- 
pointments of  life  with  a  placid  equanimity 
in  strong  antithesis  to  the  often  passionate 
grief  and  rebellion  of  other  classes  of  reli- 
gious people.  Finally,  we  may  add  to  the 
list  of  their  characteristics  their  great  moral 
sincerity.  "With  calm  resoluteness  they  tell 
you  your  faults  face  to  face,  and  without 
exciting  your  ill-will." 

The  objections  to  the  Quakerism  of  our 
day  are  that  it  is  retractile,  stationary,  neg- 
ative; it  is  selfish,  narrow,  ascetic,  tame; 
it  has  no  iron  in  its  blood;  it  rarely  adds 
anything  to  the  world's  thought.  The 
Quakers  are  a  hopelessly  antiquated  sect, 

*  Their  ideas  on  this  subject  are  very  well  stated  in  the 
following  words  taken  from  a  Quaker  pamphlet  by  Mary 
Brook  :  "  Solomon  saith,  '  The  preparations  of  the  heart  in 
man,  and  the  answer  of  the  tongue,  are  from  the  Lord.'  If 
the  Lord  alone  can  prepare  the  heart,  stir  it  up,  or  incline  it 
towards  unfeigned  holiness,  how  can  any  man  approach  him 
acceptably,  till  his  heart  be  prepared  by  him? —  and  how  can 
he  know  this  preparation  except  he  wait  in  silence  to  feel 
it?" 

f  See  Appendix  I. 


1 88        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

a  dying  branch  almost  wholly  severed  from 
connection  with  the  living  forces  of  the  tree 
of  modern  society.  There  are,  it  is  true, 
a  goodly  number  of  liberal  Quakers,  who, 
in  discarding  the  peculiar  costume  of  the 
time  of  Charles  II.,  which  many  of  them 
even  yet  wear,  have  also  thrown  off  the 
intellectual  mummy-robes  of  the  sect. 
Many  adopt  the  tenets  of  Unitarianism, 
or  make  that  religious  body  the  stepping- 
stone  to  complete  emancipation  from  an 
obsolete  system  of  thought.  But  the  mass 
of  them  are  immovable.  They  have  been 
characterized  substantially  in  the  following 
words  by  Mr.  A.  M.  Powell,  himself  a 
Quaker  by  birth,  and  an  unwilling  witness 
to  the  faults  of  a  system  of  doctrines  in 
which  he  sees  much  to  admire:  — 

"In  its  merely  sectarian  aspect,  Quaker- 
ism is  as  uninteresting,  narrow,  timid,  self- 
ish, and  conservative  as  is  mere  sectari- 
anism under  any  other  name.  The  Quakers 
have  little  comprehension  of  the  meaning 
of  Quakerism  beyond  a  blind  observance  of 
the  peculiarities  of  dress  and  speech  and 
the  formality  of  the  Meeting.  They  cling 
to  the  now  meaningless  protests  of  the  past. 


THE  MAN.  189 

They  are  inaccessible  to  new  conceptions  of 
truth.  They  have  dishonored  the  impor- 
tant fundamental  principle  [of  the  Inner 
Light]  and  tarnished  the  Society's  good 
name  by  subordinating  it  to  narrow  views 
of  religion,  to  commercial  selfishness,  and 
to  the  prevalent  palsying  conservatism  of 
the  outside  world."  * 

In  all  that  is  said  in  these  pages  by  way 
of  criticism  of  the  Quakers,  reference  is 
had  solely  to  their  doctrines  as  a  system 
of  thought.  Of  their  sweet  and  beautiful 
lives  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  speak  at 
length.  Volumes  might  be  filled  with  in- 
stances of  their  large-hearted  benevolence 
and  personal  self-sacrifice  in  care  for  others. 
The  loveliness  of  their  lives  is  like  a  beau- 
tiful perfume  in  the  society  in  which  they 
move.  As  you  see  the  Quaker  women 
of  Philadelphia,  with  their  pure,  tranquil 
faces,  and  plain,  immaculate  dress,  moving 
about  among  the  greedy  and  vile-mannered 
non-Quaker  canaille  of  that  democratic 
city,  they  seem  like  Christian  and  Faithful 

*  Mrs.  John  T.  Sargent's  "Sketches  and  Reminiscences  of 
the  Radical  Club." 


190        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

amid  the  crowds  of  Vanity  Fair.  Their 
faces  are  like  a  benediction,  and  you  thank 
heaven  for  them.  The  liberal  Friends  in 
America  have  many  great  and  noble  names 
on  their  roll  of  honor.  And  surely  a  sect 
that  has  produced  such  characters  as  Lucre- 
tia  Mott,  John  Bright,  and  John  G.  Whittier, 
must  win  our  intellectual  respect.  But  it  is 
only  because  these  persons,  like  Milton,  were 
in  most  respects  above  their  sect  that  we 
admire  them.  There  are  proofs  manifold, 
however,  throughout  the  prose  and  poetry 
of  Whittier  that  he  has  nominally  remained 
within  the  pale  of  Quakerism  all  his  days. 
Doubtless  such  a  course  was  essential  to  the 
very  existence  in  him  of  poetic  inspiration. 
His  genius  is  wholly  lyrical.  A  song  or  lyric 
is  the  outgushing  of  pure  emotion.  Espe- 
cially in  the  case  of  the  religious  and  ethi- 
cal lyrist  is  faith  life,  and  doubt  death. 
Doubt,  in  Whittier's  case,  would  have  meant 
the  cessation  of  his  songs.  To  break  away 
entirely  from  the  faith  of  his  fathers  would 
have  chilled  his  inspiration.  He  has  not,  it 
is  true,  escaped  the  conflict  with  doubt.  As 
we  shall  see,  no  man  has  had  a  severer  strug- 
gle to  reconcile  his  faith  with  the  terror  and 


THE  MAN.  191 

mystery  of  life.  But,  although  his  religious 
views  have  been  liberalized  by  science,  yet 
he  has  never  ceased  to  retain  a  hearty  sym- 
pathy with,  and  belief  in,  the  Quaker  princi- 
ples of  the  Inner  Light,  silent  waiting,  etc. 

That  he  has  remained  within  the  pale  of 
Quakerism  has  been  an  injury  to  him  as  well 
as  a  help.  It  makes  him  obtrude  his  sec- 
tarianism too  frequently,  especially  in  his 
prose  writings.  By  the  very  nature  of  the 
creed,  he  must  either  be  blind  to  its  faults, 
or  constantly  put  on  the  defensive  against 
the  least  assault,  from  whatever  quarter  it 
may  come.  When  he  dons  the  garb  of  the 
sectary,  he  naturally  becomes  weakened,  and 
loses  his  chief  charm.  We  see  then  that  he 
is  a  man  hampered  by  a  creed  which  forbids 
a  catholic  sympathy  with  human  nature.  He 
is  shut  up  in  the  narrow  field  of  sectarian 
morals  and  religion.  He  cannot,  for  exam- 
ple, enter,  by  historical  imagination,  into 
poetical  sympathy  with  the  gorgeous  ritual 
and  dreamy  beauty  of  a  European  cathedral 
service.  And  yet  so  pure,  gentle,  and  sweet 
is  his  nature  that  it  is  hard  to  censure  him 
for  this  peculiarity.  It  is  regret  rather  than 
censure  that  we  feel,  regret  that  he  has 


192  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

been  so  bound  by  circumstances  that  pre- 
vented his  breaking  wholly  away  from  ham- 
pering limitations,  and  to  be  always,  what 
he  so  often  is,  the  strong  and  sweet-voiced 
spokesman  of  the  heart  of  humanity. 

Let  us  hear  his  gentle  confessions  of  faith. 
In  the  autobiographical  poem,  "  My  Name- 
sake," we  read :  — 

"  He  worshipped  as  his  fathers  did, 

And  kept  the  faith  of  childish  days, 
And,  howsoe'er  he  strayed  or  slid, 
He  loved  the  good  old  ways. 

The  simple  tastes,  the  kindly  traits, 
The  tranquil  air,  and  gentle  speech, 

The  silence  of  the  soul  that  waits 
For  more  than  man  to  teach." 

In  "The  Meeting"  he  has  given  us  an 
"Apologia  pro  Vita  Sua," — a  defence  of  his 
religious  habits.  He  says  he  is  accustomed 
to  meet  with  the  Friends  twice  a  week  in 
the  little  Meeting"  at  Amesbury,  chiefly  for 
two  reasons:  first,  because  in  the  silent,  un- 
adorned house,  with  "pine-laid  floor,"  his 
religious  communings  are  not  distracted  by 
outward  things  as  they  would  be  if  he  wor- 
shipped always  amid  the  solitudes  of  nature; 
and,  secondly,  he  finds  in  "The  Meeting"  a 


THE  MAN.  193 

heart-solace  in  the  memories  of  dear  ones 
passed  away,  who  once  sat  by  his  side 
there.  He  says,  in  reference  to  the  Quaker 
service: — 

"  I  ask  no  organ's  soulless  breath 
To  drone  the  themes  of  life  and  death, 
No  altar  candle-lit  by  day, 
No  ornate  wordsman's  rhetoric-play, 
No  cool  philosophy  to  teach 
Its  bland  audacities  of  speech, 

No  pulpit  hammered  by  the  fist 
Of  loud-asserting  dogmatist." 

In  "  Memories  "  he  says:  — 

"Thine  the  Genevan's  sternest  creed, 
While  answers  to  my  spirit's  need 

The  Derby  dalesman's  simple  truth. 
For  thee,  the  priestly  rite  and  prayer, 

And  holy  day  and  solemn  psalm ; 
For  me,  the  silent  reverence  where 

My  brethren  gather  slow  and  calm." 

There  are  two  epochs  in  the  religious 
or  philosophical  development  of  Whittier. 
The  first — that  of  simple  piety  unclouded 
by  doubt,  the  epoch  of  unhesitating  accept- 
ance of  the  popular  mythology  —  seems  to 
have  lasted  until  about  1850,  or  the  period 
of  early  Darwinism  and  Spencerianism,  — 

13 


194        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

the  most  momentous  epoch  in  the  religious 
history  of  the  world.  This  pivotal  point 
is  very  well  marked  by  the  publication, 
in  1853,  of  "The  Chapel  of  the  Hermits" 
and  "Questions  of  Life."  It  is  now  that 
harrowing  doubt  begins,  and  restless  striv- 
ing to  retain  the  faith  amid  new  conditions 
and  a  vastly  widened  mental  horizon.  Tran- 
scendentalism, too,  had  just  passed  the  noon 
meridian  of  its  splendor.  Emerson  had 
written  many  of  his  exquisite  philosophical 
poems,  and  Parker  had  blown  his  clear 
bugle-call  to  a  higher  religious  life.  It  is 
evident  that  Whittier  was  —  as,  indeed,  he 
could  not  help  being  —  profoundly  moved 
by  the  new  spirit  of  the  times. 

With  Transcendentalism  he  must  have 
had  large  sympathy,  owing  to  the  similarity 
of  its  principles  to  those  of  Quakerism. 
And  that  he  was  profoundly  agitated  by 
the  revelations  of  science  his  poetry  shows. 
In  "  My  Soul  and  I "  (a  poem  remarkable 
for  its  searching  subjective  analysis),  and 
in  the  poem  "  Pollen,"  he  had  given  expres- 
sion to  religious  doubt,  over  which,  as  al- 
ways in  his  case,  faith  was  triumphant. 
But  it  is  in  "The  Chapel  of  the  Hermits" 


THE  MAN.  195 

and  succeeding  poems  that  he  first  gave 
free  and  full  utterance  to  the  doubt  and 
struggle  of  soul  that  was  not  his  alone,  but 
which  was  felt  by  all  around  him.  In  re- 
spect of  doubt  "  My  Soul  and  I "  and  "  Ques- 
tions of  Life "  resemble  "  Faust,"  as  well 
as  Tennyson's  "  Two  Voices  "  and  the  "  In 
Memoriam." 

"  Life's  mystery  wrapped  him  like  a  cloud ; 

He  heard  far  voices  mock  his  own, 
The  sweep  of  wings  unseen,  the  loud, 
Long  roll  of  waves  unknown. 

The  arrows  of  his  straining  sight 

Fell  quenched  in  darkness  ;  priest  and  sage 

Like  lost  guides  calling  left  and  right, 
Perplexed  his  doubtful  age. 

Like  childhood,  listening  for  the  sound 

Of  its  dropped  pebbles  in  the  well, 
All  vainly  down  the  dark  profound 

His  brief-lined  plummet  fell." 

My  Namesake 

The    "  Questions   of  Life "    are    such  as 
these: — 

"I  am :  but  little  more  I  know ! 
Whence  came  I  ?     Whither  do  I  go  ? 
A  centred  self,  which  feels  and  is  ; 
A  cry  between  the  silences." 


196        JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

"  This  conscious  life,  —  is  it  the  same 
Which  thrills  the  universal  frame  ?  " 

"  Do  bird  and  blossom  feel,  like  me, 
Life's  many-folded  mystery,  — 
The  wonder  which  it  is  To  Be  ? 
Or  stand  I  severed  and  distinct, 
From  Nature's  chain  of  life  unlinked  ?  " 

Such  questions  as  these  he  confesses  him- 
self unable  to  answer.  He  shrinks  back 
terrified  from  the  task.  He  will  not  dare 
to  trifle  with  their  bitter  logic.  He  will 
take  refuge  in  faith;  he  will  trust  the  Un- 
seen; let  us  cease  foolish  questioning,  and 
live  wisely  and  well  our  present  lives.  He 
comes  out  of  the  struggle  purified  and  chas- 
tened, still  holding  by  his  faith  in  God  and 
virtue.  A  good  deal  of  the  old  Quakerism 
is  gone,  —  the  belief  in  hell,  in  the  Messianic 
and  atonement  machinery,  in  local  and 
special  avatars,  etc.  Again  and  again,  in 
his  later  poems,  he  asserts  the  humanity  of 
Christ  and  the  co-equal  divinity  of  all  men: 
see  "  Miriam,"  for  example.  His  opin- 
ion about  hell  he  embodies  in  the  sweet 
little  poem,  "The  Minister's  Daughter," 
published  in  "The  King's  Missive."  In 
short,  his  religion  is  a  simple  and  trustful 


THE  MAN.  197 

theism.  But  there  is  no  evidence  that  he 
has  ever  incorporated  into  his  mind  the 
principles  of  the  development-science, — 
the  evolution  of  man,  the  correlation  of 
forces,  the  development  of  the  universe 
through  its  own  inner  divine  potency ;  or, 
in  fine,  any  of  the  unteleological,  unan- 
thropomorphic  explanations  of  things  which 
are  necessitated  by  science,  and  admitted 
by  advanced  thinkers,  both  in  and  out  of  the 
Churches. 

As  witnesses  to  his  trustful  attitude,  we 
may  select  such  a  cluster  of  stanzas  as 
this:  — 

"  Yet,  sometimes  glimpses  on  my  sight, 
Through  present  wrong,  the  eternal  right ; 
And,  step  by  step,  since  time  began, 
I  see  the  steady  gain  of  man  ; 

That  all  of  good  the  past  hath  had 
Remains  to  make  our  own  time  glad, — 
Our  common  daily  life  divine, 
And  every  land  a  Palestine. 

Through  the  harsh  noises  of  our  day 
A  low,  sweet  prelude  finds  its  way; 
Through  clouds  of  doubt,  and  creeds  of  fear, 
A  light  is  breaking  calm  and  clear." 

Chapel  of  the  Hermits. 


198        JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

"  Yet,  in  the  maddening  maze  of  things, 

And  tossed  by  storm  and  flood, 
To  one  fixed  stake  my  spirit  clings ; 
I  know  that  God  is  good  ! 


I  know  not  where  His  islands  lift 

Their  fronded  palms  in  air ; 
I  only  know  I  cannot  drift 

Beyond  His  love  and  care." 

The  Eternal  Goodness. 

"  When  on  my  day  of  life  the  night  is  falling, 

And  in  the  winds  from  unsunned  spaces  blown, 
I  hear  far  voices  out  of  darkness  calling 
My  feet  to  paths  unknown, 

Thou  who  hast  made  my  home  of  life  so  pleasant, 
Leave  not  its  tenant  when  its  walls  decay ; 

O  love  divine,  O  Helper  ever  present, 
Be  Thou  my  strength  and  stay !  " 

At  Last. 

"  Dear  Lord  and  Father  of  mankind, 

Forgive  our  foolish  ways  ! 
Reclothe  us  in  our  rightful  mind, 
In  purer  lives  thy  service  find, 
In  deeper  reverence,  praise." 

The  Brewing  of  Soma. 

But  Whittier  is  as  remarkable  for  his  faith 
in  man  as  for  his  faith  in  God.  He  is  in  the 
highest  degree  patriotic,  American.  He 
loves  America  because  it  is  the  land  of  free- 


THE  MAN.  199 

dom.  It  has  been  charged  against  him  that 
he  is  no  true  American  poet,  but  a  Quaker 
poet.  The  American,  it  is  said,  is  eager, 
aggressive,  high-spirited,  combative;  the 
Quaker,  subdued  and  phlegmatic.  The 
American  is  loud  and  boastful  and  daring 
and  reckless;  the  Quaker,  cautious,  timid, 
secretive,  and  frugal.  This  is  undoubtedly 
true  of  the  classes  as  types,  but  it  is  far 
from  being  true  of  Whitti<jr  personally. 
He  has  blood  militant  in  him.  He  comes 
of  Puritan  as  well  as  Quaker  stock.  The 
Greenleafs  and  the  Batchelders  were  not 
Quakers.  The  reader  will  perhaps  remem- 
ber the  Lieutenant  Greenleaf,  already  men- 
tioned, who  fought  through  the  entire  Civil 
War  in  England.*  But  his  writings  alone 

*  Hear  Whittier  himself  on  the  subject :  — 

"  Without  intending  any  disparagement  of  my  peaceable 
ancestry  for  many  generations,  I  have  still  strong  suspicions 
that  somewhat  of  the  old  Norman  blood,  something  of  the 
grim  Berserker  spirit,  has  been  bequeathed  to  me.  How  else 
can  I  account  for  the  intense  childish  eagerness  with  which  I 
listened  to  the  stories  of  old  campaigners  who  sometimes 
fought  their  battles  over  again  in  my  hearing?  Why  did  I, 
in  my  young  fancy,  go  up  with  Jonathan,  the  son  of  Saul, 
to  smite  the  garrisoned  Philistines  of  Michmash,  or  with  the 
fierce  son  of  Nun  against  the  cities  of  Canaan?  Why  was 
Mr.  Greatheart,  in  Pilgrim's  Progress,  my  favorite  character? 
What  gave  such  fascination  to  the  grand  Homeric  encounter 


200        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

furnish  ample  proof  of  his  martial  spirit. 
The  man  and  the  Quaker  struggle  within 
him  for  the  mastery;  and  the  man  is, 
on  the  whole,  triumphant.  Whenever  his 
Quakerism  permits,  he  stands  out  a  normal 
man  and  a  genuine  American.  As  Lowell 
says :  — 

"  There  is  Whittier,  whose  swelling  and  vehement  heart 
Strains  the  strait-breasted  drab  of  the  Quaker  apart, 
And  reveals  the^  live  Man  still  supreme  and  erect 
Underneath  the  bemummying  wrappers  of  sect." 

If  anybody  will  take  the  trouble  to  glance 
over  the  complete  works  of  Whittier,  he  or 
she  will  find  that  one  of  the  predominant 
characteristics  of  his  writings  is  their  indi- 
genous quality,  their  national  spirit.  Indeed, 
this  is  almost  too  notorious  to  need  men- 
tion. He,  if  any  one,  merits  the  proud  title 
of  "A  Representative  American  Poet."  His 
whole  soul  is  on  fire  with  love  of  country. 

between  Christian  and  Apollyon  in  the  valley?  Why  did  I 
follow  Ossian  over  Morven's  battle-fields,  exulting  in  the 
vulture-screams  of  the  blind  scald  over  his  fallen  enemies? 
Still,  later,  why  did  the  newspapers  furnish  me  with  subjects 
for  hero-worship  in  the  half-demented  Sir  Gregor  McGregor, 
and  Ypsilanti  at  the  head  of  his  knavish  Greeks?  I  can  ac- 
count for  it  only  on  the  supposition  that  the  mischief  was 
inherited,  —  an  heirloom  from  the  old  sea-kings  of  the  ninth 
century."  —  Prose  Works,  II. ,  390,  391. 


THE  MAN.  201 

As  in  the  case  of  Whitman,  his  country  is  his 
bride,  and  upon  it  he  has  showered  all  the 
affectional  wealth  of  his  nature.  The  Qua- 
ker may  be  too  obtrusive  in  his  prose 
writings,  but  it  is  not  so  in  the  greater  and 
better  portion  of  his  poetry.  When  the  rush 
and  glow  of  genuine  poetical  inspiration 
seize  him,  he  invariably  rises  in  spirit  far 
above  the  weltering  and  eddying  dust- 
clouds  of  faction  and  sect  into  the  serene 
atmosphere  of  genuine  patriotism.  Read 
his  "  Last  Walk  in  Autumn,"  where  he 
says : — 

"  Home  of  my  heart !  to  me  more  fair 

Than  gay  Versailles  or  Windsor's  halls, 
The  painted,  shingly  town-house  where 
The  freeman's  vote  for  Freedom  falls ! " 

Read  his  "Eve  of  Election  ":  — 

"Not  lightly  fall 

Beyond  recall 
The  written  scrolls  a  breath  can  float ; 

The  crowning  fact, 

The  kingliest  act 
Of  Freedom  is  the  freeman's  vote  ! " 

Or  take  "After  Election,"  a  poem  that  can- 
not be  read  without  a  thrill  of  the  nerves  and  a 
leaping  of  the  heart.  You  have  concentrated 


202        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

in  that  wild  lyric  burst  the  purest  essence 
of  democratic  patriotism,  —  the  trembling 
anxiety  and  yearning  of  a  mother-heart.  It 
is  a  poem  celebrating  a  victory  of  peace  with 
ail  the  fiery  energy  of  a  war-ode  (a  signifi- 
cant fact  that  the  advocates  of  gory  war,  as 
a  source  of  poetic  inspiration,  would  do  well 
to  ponder) :  — 

"The  day's  sharp  strife  is  ended  now, 
Our  work  is  done,  God  knoweth  how  ! 
As  on  the  thronged,  unrestful  town 
The  patience  of  the  moon  looks  down, 
I  wait  to  hear,  beside  the  wire, 
The  voices  of  its  tongues  of  fire. 

Slow,  doubtful,  faint,  they  seem  at  first : 
Be  strong,  my  heart,  to  know  the  worst ! 
Hark  !  —  there  the  Alleghanies  spoke  ; 
That  sound  from  lake  and  prairie  broke, 
That  sunset  gun  of  triumph  rent 
The  silence  of  a  continent  1 

That  signal  from  Nebraska  sprung, 

This,  from  Nevada's  mountain  tongue ! 

Is  that  thy  answer,  strong  and  free, 

O  loyal  heart  of  Tennessee  ? 

What  strange,  glad  voice  is  that  which  calls 

From  Wagner's  grave  and  Sumter's  walls  ? 

From  Mississippi's  fountain-head 
A  sound  as  of  the  bison's  tread ! 


THE  MAN.  203 

There  rustled  freedom's  Charter  Oak ! 
In  that  wild  burst  the  Ozarks  spoke  ! 
Cheer  answers  cheer  from  rise  to  set 
Of  sun.     We  have  a  country  yet ! " 

To  sum  up  now  our  analysis  of  the  poet's 
character.  We  have  seen  that  the  central 
trait  of  his  mind  is  love  of  freedom.  (Even 
his  religion,  which  is  so  profound  an  element 
in  his  nature,  and  so  all-pervasive  in  his 
writings,  will  be  found,  on  a  deep  analysis, 
to  be  a  yearning  for  freedom  from  the  trap- 
pings of  sense  and  time,  in  order  to  attain  to 
a  spiritual  union  with  the  Infinite.)  This 
love  of  freedom,  this  hatred  of  oppression, 
intensified  by  persecution,  both  ancestral  and 
personal,  stimulated  by  contact  with  Puritan 
democracy,  as  well  as  by  the  New  England 
Transcendental  movement,  and  flowering  out 
luxuriantly  in  the  long  struggle  against  sla- 
very,—  this  noble  sentiment,  and  that  long 
self-sacrificing  personal  warfare  in  behalf  of 
the  oppressed,  form  the  true  glory  of  Whit- 
tier's  character.  Shy,  timid,  almost  an  in- 
valid, having  a  nervous  horror  of  mobs  and 
personal  indignities,  he  yet  forgot  himself  in 
his  love  of  Man,  overcame  and  underwent, — 
suffered  social  martyrdom  for  a  quarter  of  a 


204        JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

century,  never  flinching,  never  holding  his 
peace  for  bread's  sake  or  fame's  sake,  not 
stopping  to  count  the  cost,  taking  his  life  in 
his  hand,  and  never  ceasing  to  express  his 
high-born  soul  in  burning  invective  and 
scathing  satire  against  the  oppressor,  or  in 
words  of  lofty  hope  and  cheer  for  the  suffer- 
ing idealist  and  lover  of  humanity,  whoever 
and  wherever  he  was.  Whittier  is  a  hero  as 
well  as  a  poet.  He  will  be  known  to  pos- 
terity by  a  few  exquisite  poems,  but  chiefly 
by  his  moral  heroism  and  patriotism^  As  a 
thinker  and  a  poet  he  belongs,  with  Bryant^ 
and  Longfellow,  to  the  pre-scientific  age.] 
The  poetry  of  the  future  (of  the  new  era  of 
self-consciousness)  will  necessarily  differ 
widely  from  that  of  the  first  half  of  this  cen- 
tury. It  will  not  be  distinctively  the  poetry 
of  Wordsworth,  or  Cowper,  or  Byron,  or 
Longfellow,  or  Whittier.  When  the  present 
materialistic  and  realistic  temper  of  mind 
disappears  from  literature,  and  really  noble 
ideal  poetry  returns,  it  will  be  vast  in  its 
scope  and  range,  robust  in  its  philosophy, 
unfettered  by  petty  rhymes  and  classic- 
isms, but  powerfully  rhythmic  and  harmo- 
nious. The  writings  of  Shakspere,  Goethe, 


THE  MAN.  205 

Jean  Paul,  Hugo,  Tennyson,  Whitman,  and 
Emerson  are  the  magnificent  proem  to  it. 
It  will  be  built  upon  a  scientific  and  religious 
cosmism.  It  will  not  discuss  Apollo  and 
Luna  and  Neptune,  and  the  nymphs  and 
muses,  but  will  draw  its  imagery  from  the 
heaven-staining  red-flames  of  the  sun,  the 
gulfs  of  space,  the  miracles  of  organic  and 
inorganic  life,  and  human  society.  It  will 
draw  its  inspiration  not  more  from  the  storied 
past  than  from  the  storied  future  foreseen  by 
its  prophetic  eye.  It  will  idealize  human 
life  and  deify  nature.  It  will  fall  in  the  era  of 
imagination.  (After  it  will  come  another  age 
of  criticism.)  It  will  fall  in  the  age  of  splen- 
did democracieSi»p,[And  in  that  age  men  will 
look  back  with  veneration,  not  so  much,  per- 
haps, to  the  scholar-poets  as  to  the  hero-poets, 
like  Whittier,  who  put  faith  in  the  rights  of 
man  and  woman,  who  did  believe  in  divine 
democracy,  and  were  not  ashamed  of  it,  but 
nursed  it  patiently  through  its  puling  infancy, 
well  assured  of  its  undying  grandeur  when 
it  should  come  to  man's  estate.J 

We   subjoin    fittingly   to    this    chapter   a 
characteristic    letter    of    Mr.    Whittier's,   in 


206  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

which  he  speaks  lovingly  of  Robert  Burns, 
that  other  poet  of  freedom  and  independence 
of  thought  for  all  men. 

At  the  Burns  festival  in  Washington, 
1869,  the  following  letter  from  John  G. 
Whittier  was  read: 

"  AMESBURY,  ist  month,  i8th  day,  1869. 

"  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  thank  the  club  repre- 
sented by  thee  for  remembering  me  on  the 
occasion  of  its  annual  festival.  Though  I 
have  never  been  able  to  trace  my  ancestry 
to  the  Land  o'  Cakes,  I  have  —  and  I  know 
it  is  saying  a  great  deal  —  a  Scotchman's 
love  for  the  poet  whose  fame  deepens  and 
broadens  with  years.  The  world  has  never 
known  a  truer  singer.  We  may  criticise  his 
rustic  verse  and  compare  his  brief  and  sim- 
ple lyrics  with  the  works  of  men  of  longer 
scrolls  and  loftier  lyres  ;  but  after  rendering 
to  Wordsworth,  Tennyson  and  Browning 
the  homage  which  the  intellect  owes  to 
genius,  we  turn  to  Burns,  if  not  with  awe 
and  reverence,  [yet]  with  a  feeling  of  per- 
sonal interest  and  affection.  We  admire 
others;  we  love  him.  As  the  day  of  his 
birth  comes  round,  I  take  down  his  well- 


THE  MAN.  2O7 

worn  volume  in  grateful  commemoration, 
and  feel  that  I  am  communing  with  one 
whom  living  I  could  have  loved  as  much  for 
his  true  manhood  and  native  nobility  of  soul 
as  for  those  wonderful  songs  of  his  which 
shall  sing  themselves  forever. 

"  They  know  little  of  Burns  who  regard 
him  as  an  aimless  versifier — 'the  idle  singer 
of  an  idle  lay.'  Pharisees  in  the  Church,  and 
oppressors  in  the  State,  knew  better  than 
this.  They  felt  those  immortal  sarcasms 
which  did  not  die  with  the  utterer,  but  lived 
on  to  work  out  the  divine  commission  of 
Providence.  In  the  shout  of  enfranchised 
millions,  as  they  lift  the  untitled  Quaker  of 
Rochdale  into  the  British  Cabinet,  I  seem 
to  hear  the  voice  of  the  Ayrshire  poet:  — 

"  '  For  a'  that  and  a"  that, 
It's  comin'  yet  for  a*  that ; 
That  man  to  man  the  world  o'er 
Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that.' 

"With  hearty  sympathy  and  kind  greet- 
ings for  the  Burns  Club  of  Washington, 
"  I  am,  very  truly,  thy  friend, 

"JOHN  G.  WHITTIER." 


2O8        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    ARTIST. 

THE  title  of  this  chapter  is  almost  a  mis- 
nomer; for  the  style,  or  technique,  of  the 
poet  whose  works  we  are  considering  is  so 
very  simple  and  unoriginal  that  he  can  hardly 
be  said  to  have  a  distinctive  style  of  his 
own,  —  unless  a  few  persistent  mannerisms 
establish  a  claim  to  it.  His  diction,  however, 
is  always  pictorial,  and  glows  with  an  in- 
tense Oriental  fervor.  Fused  in  this  inte- 
rior vital  heat,  his  thoughts  do  not  sink, 
like  powerful  Jinn,  into  the  deep  silence- 
sphere  of  the  mind,  to  fetch  thence  spark- 
ling treasures,  rich  and  strange:  rather, 
they  run  to  and  fro  with  lightning  swiftness 
amid  the  million  surface-pictures  of  the 
intellect;  rearranging,  recombining,  and 
creatively  blending  its  images,  and  finally 
pouring  them  out  along  the  page  to  charm 
our  fancy  and  feeling  with  old  thoughts  and 


THE  ARTIST.  2OQ 

scenes  painted  in  fresh  colors  and  from  new 
points  of  view.  There  is  more  of  fancy 
than  of  creative  imagination  in  Whittier. 

The  artistic  quality,  or  tone,  of  his  mind 
is  a  fusion  of  that  of  Wordsworth  and  that 
of  Byron.  In  his  best  ballads  and  other 
lyrics  you  have  the  moral  sincerity  of 
Wordsworth  and  the  sweet  Wordsworthian 
simplicity  (with  a  difference)  ;  and  in  his 
reform  poems  you  have  the  Byronic  indig- 
nation, and  scorn  of  Philistinism  and  its 
tyrannies.  As  a  religious  poet,  he  reveals 
the  quiet  piety  and  devoutness  of  Cowper; 
and  his  rural  and  folk  poems  show  that  he 
is  a  debtor  to  Burns. 

He  has  been  a  diligent  reader,  —  "a  close- 
browed  miser  of  the  scholar's  gains," — and 
his  writings  are  full  of  bookish  allusions. 
But,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  his  doctor's 
gown  does  not  often  sit  gracefully  upon  his 
shoulders.  His  readers  soon  learn  to  know 
that  his  strength  lies  in  his  moral  nature, 
and  in  his  power  to  tell  a  story  melodiously, 
simply,  and  sweetly.  Hence  it  is,  doubt- 
less, that  they  care  little  for  his  literary 

14 


210        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

allusions,  —  think,  perhaps,  that  they  are 
rather  awkwardly  dragged  in  by  the  ears, 
and  at  any  rate  hasten  by  them  impatiently 
that  they  may  inhale  anew  the  violet-fresh- 
ness of  the  poet's  own  soul.  What  has  just 
been  said  about  bookish  allusions  does  not 
apply  to  the  beautiful  historical  ballads  pro- 
duced by  Whittier  in  the  mellow  maturity 
of  his  powers.  These  fresh  improvisations 
are  as  perfect  works  of  art  as  the  finest 
Greek  marbles.  In  them  Whittier  at  length 
succeeds  in  freeing  himself  completely  from 
the  shackles  of  didacticism.  Such  ballads  as 
"The  Witch's  Daughter"  and  "Telling  the 
Bees"  are  as  absolutely  faultless  productions 
as  Wordsworth's  "We  are  Seven"  and  his 
"Lucy  Gray,"  or  as  Uhland's  "Des  Sanger's 
Fluch,"  or  William  Blake's  "Mary."  There 
is  in  them  the  confident  and  unconscious 
ease  that  marks  the  work  of  the  highest 
genius.  A  shower  of  lucid  water-drops  falls 
in  no  truer  obedience  to  the  law  of  perfect 
sphericity  than  flowed  from  the  pen  of  the 
poet  these  delicate  creations  in  obedience  to 
the  law  of  perfect  spontaneity.  Almost  all 
of  Whittier's  lyrics  have  evidently  been  rap- 
idly written,  poured  forth  in  the  first  glow 


THE  ARTIST.  211 

of  feeling,  and  not  carefully  amended  and 
polished  as  were  Longfellow's  works.  And 
herein  he  is  at  fault,  as  was  Byron.  But 
the  delicate  health  of  Whittier,  and  his 
toilsome  early  days,  form  an  excuse  for  his 
deficiency  in  this  respect.  His  later  crea- 
tions, the  product  of  his  leisure  years,  are 
full  of  pure  and  flawless  music.  They  have 
no  harmony  or  rhythmic  volume  of  sound, 
as  in  Tennyson,  Swinburne,  Milton,  and 
Shakspere;  but  they  set  themselves  to  sim- 
ple melodious  airs  spontaneously.  As  you 
read  them,  your  feet  begin  to  tap  time, — 
only  the  music  is  that  of  a  good  rural  choir 
rather  than  that  of  an  orchestra. 

The  thought  of  each  poem  is  generally 
conveyed  to  the  reader's  understanding  with 
the  utmost  lucidity.  There  is  no  mysticism, 
no  obscurity.  The  story  or  thought  unfolds 
itself  naturally,  and  without  fatigue  to  our 
minds.  A  great  many  poems  are  indeed 
spun  out  at  too  great  length;  but  the  central 
idea  to  be  conveyed  is  rarely  lost  sight  of. 

To  the  list  of  his  virtues  as  an  artist,  it 
remains  to  add  his  frequent  surprising 


212        JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

strength.  This  is  naturally  most  marked  in 
the  anti-slavery  poems.  When  he  wrote 
these,  he  was  in  the  flush  of  manhood,  his 
soul  at  a  white  heat  of  moral  indignation. 
He  is  occasionally  nerved  to  almost  super- 
human effort:  it  is  the  battle-axe  of  Richard 
thundering  at  the  gates  of  Front  de  Boeuf. 
For  nervous  energy,  there  is  nothing  in  the 
Hebrew  prophets  finer  than  such  passage.-, 
as  these: — 

"  Strike  home,  strong-hearted  man ! 

Down  to  the  root 
Of  old  oppression  sink  the  Saxon  steel." 

To  Range. 

"  Maddened  by  Earth's  wrong  and  evil, 

'  Lord  ! '  I  cried  in  sudden  ire, 
'  From  thy  right  hand,  clothed  with  thunder, 

Shake  the  bolted  fire  ! '  " 

What  the  Voice  Said. 

"  Hands  off !  thou  tithe-fat  plunderer !  play 

No  trick  of  priestcraft  here  ! 
Back,  puny  lordling  !  darest  thou  lay 

A  hand  on  Elliott's  bier  ? 
Alive,  your  rank  and  pomp,  as  dust, 

Beneath  his  feet  he  trod  : 
He  knew  the  locust-swarm  that  cursed 

The  harvest-fields  of  God. 

"  On  these  pale  lips,  the  smothered  thought 
Which  England's  millions  feel, 


THE  ARTIST.  213 

A  fierce  and  fearful  splendor  caught, 

As  from  his  forge  the  steel. 
Strong-armed  as  Thor,  —  a  shower  of  fire 

His  smitten  anvil  flung ; 
God's  curse,  Earth's  wrong,  dumb  Hunger's  ire,  — 

He  gave  them  all  a  tongue  ! " 

Elliott. 

"  And  Law,  an  unloosed  maniac,  strong, 

Blood-drunken,  through  the  blackness  trod, 
Hoarse-shouting  in  the  ear  of  God 
The  blasphemy  of  wrong." 

The  Rendition. 

"  All  grim  and  soiled,  and  brown  with  tan, 

I  saw  a  Strong  One,  in  his  wrath, 
Smiting  the  godless  shrines  of  man 
Along  his  path." 

The  Reformer. 

As  Whittier  has  grown  older,  and  the 
battles  of  his  life  have  become  (as  he 
expressed  it  to  the  writer)  like  "  a  re- 
membered dream,"  his  genius  has  grown 
mellow  and  full  of  graciousness.  His  art 
culminated  in  "  Home  Ballads,"  "  Snow- 
Bound,"  and  "The  Tent  on  the  Beach." 
He  has  kept  longer  than  most  poets  the 
lyric  glow ;  only  in  his  later  poems  it  is 
"  emotion  remembered  in  tranquillity." 

If  asked  to  name  the  finest  poems  of 
Whittier,  would  not  the  following  instinct- 


214        JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

ively  recur  to  the  mind:  "Snow-Bound," 
"Maud  Muller,"  "Barbara  Frietchie,"  "The 
Witch's  Daughter,"  "Telling  the  Bees," 
"Skipper  Ireson's  Ride,"  "King  Volmer 
and  Elsie,"  and  "The  Tent  on  the  Beach"? 
To  these  one  would  1'ke  to  add  several 
exquisite  hymns  and  short  secular  lyrics. 
But  the  poems  mentioned  would  probably 
be  regarded  by  most  critics  as  Whittier's 
tinest  works  of  art.  They  merit  this  dis- 
tinction certainly;  and  they  furnish  remark- 
able instances  for  those  who  desire  to  study 
the  poet's  greater  versatility  in  the  ballad 
line,  as  they  are  all  good  representatives  of 
his  wonderfully  long  range. 

The  foregoing  remark  must  be  our  cue  for 
beginning  to  pass  in  review  the  artistic  de- 
ficiencies of  Whittier.  He  has  three  crazes 
that  have  nearly  ruined  the  mass  of  his 
poetry.  They  are  the  reform  craze,  the 
religious  craze,  and  the  rhyme  craze.  Of 
course,  as  a  man,  he  could  not  have  a  super- 
fluity of  the  first  of  these;  but,  as  a  poet, 
they  have  been  a  great  injury  to  him.  We 
need  not  deny  that  he  has  taken  the  manlier 
course  in  subordinating  the  artist  to  the 


THE  ARTIST.  215 

reformer  and  preacher ;  but  in  estimating  his 
poetic  merits  we  ought  to  regard  his  work 
from  an  aosolute  point  of  view.  Let  us  not 
be  misunderstood.  It  is  gladly  and  freely 
conceded  that  the  theory  that  great  poetry 
is  not  necessarily  moral,  and  that  the  aim  of 
poetry  is  only  to  please  the  senses,  is  a  petty 
and  shallow  one,  and  that  the  true  function 
of  the  great  poet  is  also  to  bear  witness  to 
the  ideal  and  noble,  to  the  moral  and  relig- 
ious. Let  us  heartily  agree  with  Principal 
Shairp  when  he  says  that  the  true  end  of 
the  poet  "  is  to  awaken  men  to  the  divine 
side  of  things;  to  bear  witness  to  the  beauty 
that  clothes  the  outer  world,  the  nobility 
that  lies  hid,  often  obscured,  in  human 
souls;  to  call  forth  sympathy  for  neglected 
truths,  for  noble  but  oppressed  persons,  for 
downtrodden  causes,  and  to  make  men  feel 
that  through  all  outward  beauty  and  all  pure 
inward  affection  God  himself  is  addressing 
them."  We  may  admit  all  this,  and  yet  find 
fault  with  the  moralizations  and  homilies 
of  Whittier.  The  poetry  of  Dante  and 
Milton  is  full  of  ethical  passion,  and  occa- 
sionally a  little  sermon  is  wedged  in;  yet 
they  do  not  treat  us  to  endless  broadsides 


2l6        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

of  preaching,  as  Whittier  does  in  his  earlier 
poems,  and  in  some  of  his  later  ones.  But 
there  is  this  distinction:  the  moral  in  Dante 
and  Milton  and  Shakspere  and  Emerson 
is  so  garnitured  with  beauty  that  while  our 
souls  are  ennobled  our  imaginations  are 
gratified.  But  in  many  of  Whittier's  poems 
we  have  the  bare  skeleton  of  the  moral, 
without  the  rounded  contour  and  delicate 
tints  of  the  living  body  of  beauty.  His 
reform  poems  have  been  called  stump- 
speeches  in  verse.  His  anti-slavery  poems 
are,  with  a  few  exceptions,  devoid  of  beauty. 
They  should  have  been  written  in  the  man- 
ner he  himself  commends  in  a  review  of 
Longfellow's  "Evangeline":  he  should  have 
depicted  the  truth  strongly  and  attractively, 
and  left  to  the  reader  the  censure  and  the 
indignation.  Mr.  Whittier  seems  to  know 
his  peculiar  limitations  as  well  as  his  critics. 
He  speaks  of  himself  as  one  — 

"Whose  rhyme 

Beat  often  Labor's  hurried  time, 
Or  Duty's  rugged  march  through  storm  and  strife," 

and  he  has  once  or  twice  expressed  himself 
in  prose  in  a  way  that  seems  to  show  that  he 


THE  ARTIST.  217 

recognizes  the  artistic  mistake  in  the  con- 
struction of  his  earlier  poems.  The  omis- 
sion of  the  moral  envoi  from  so  many  of  his 
maturer  creations  strengthens  one  in  this  sur- 
mise. In  1867  Whittier  published  the  fol- 
lowing letter  in  the  New  York  Nation: 

"To  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  NATION: 

"I  am  very  well  aware  that  merely  personal 
explanations  are  not  likely  to  be  as  interest- 
ing to  the  public  as  to  the  parties  concerned; 
but  I  am  induced  to  notice  what  is  either  a 
misconception  on  thy  part,  or,  as  is  most 
probable,  a  failure  on  my  own  to  make  my- 
self clearly  understood.  In  the  review  of 
cThe  Tent  on  the  Beach'  in  thy  paper  of 
last  week,  I  confess  I  was  not  a  little  sur- 
prised to  find  myself  represented  as  regret- 
ting my  life-long  and  active  participation  in 
the  great  conflict  which  has  ended  in  the 
emancipation  of  the  slave,  and  that  I  had 
not  devoted  myself  to  merely  literary  pur- 
suits. In  the  half-playful  lines  upon  which 
this  statement  is  founded,  if  I  did  not  feel 
at  liberty  to  boast  of  my  anti-slavery  labors 
and  magnify  my  editorial  profession,  I  cer- 
tainly did  not  mean  to  underrate  them,  or 


2l8        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

express  the  shadow  of  a  regret  that  they 
had  occupied  so  large  a  share  of  my  time 
and  thought.  The  simple  fact  is  that  I  can- 
not be  sufficiently  thankful  to  the  Divine 
Providence  that  so  early  called  my  attention 
to  the  great  interests  of  humanity,  saving 
me  from  the  poor  ambitions  and  miserable 
jealousies  of  a  selfish  pursuit  of  literary 
reputation.  Up  to  a  comparatively  recent 
period  my  writings  have  been  simply  episodi- 
cal, something  apart  from  the  real  object  and 
aim  of  my  life;  and  whatever  of  favor  the}7 
have  found  with  the  public  has  come  to  me 
as  a  grateful  surprise  rather  than  as  an  ex- 
pected reward.  As  I  have  never  staked  all 
upon  the  chances  of  authorship,  I  have  been 
spared  the  pain  of  disappointment  and  the 
temptation  to  envy  those  who,  as  men  of 
letters,  deservedly  occupy  a  higher  place  in 
the  popular  estimation  than  I  have  ever 
aspired  to. 

"  Truly  thy  friend, 

"JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 

"AMESBURY,  gth,  3d  mo.,  1867." 

One  is  reminded  by  this  letter  that  Words- 
worth once  said  to  Dr.  Orville  Dewey,  of 
Boston,  that,  "although  he  was  known  to 


THE  ARTIST.  21$ 

the  world  only  as  a  poet,  he  had  given  twelve 
hours'  thought  to  the  condition  and  prospects 
of  society  for  one  to  poetry."  In  a  letter 
read  at  the  third  decade  meeting  of  the 
American  Anti-Slavery  Society  in  Philadel-  / 

-^iT 


phia,  Mr.  Whittier  said:  "I  am  not 
sible  to  literary  reputation;  I  love,  perhaps 
too  well,  the  praise  and  good-will  of  my 
fellow-men;  but  I  set  a  higher  value  on  my 
name  as  appended  to  the  Anti-Slavery  Dec- 
laration of  1833  than  on  the  title-page  of  any 
book." 

In  his  earlier  years  our  poet  was  wholly 
ignorant  of  the  fact  that  an  artist  should 
love  beauty  for  its  own  sake.  The  simple- 
hearted  Quaker  and  Puritan  farmer-youth 
thought  it  almost  a  sin  to  spend  his  time  in 
the  cultivation  of  the  beautiful.  In  his  dedi- 
cation of  the  "  Supernaturalism  of  New 
England  "  to  his  sister,  he  says  :  — 

"  And  knowing  how  my  life  hath  been 
A  weary  work  of  tongue  and  pen, 
A  long,  harsh  strife  with  strong-willed  men, 

Thou  wilt  not  chide  my  turning, 
To  con,  at  times,  an  idle  rhyme, 
To  pluck  a  flower  from  childhood's  clime, 
Or  listen,  at  Life's  noon-day  chime, 

For  the  sweet  bells  of  Morning  !  " 


220        JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

"  Poor  fellow!"  we  say  at  first.  And  yet 
there  is  something  refreshing  and  noble  in 
such  a  spirit.  It  is  with  difficult)'  that  the 
Germanic  mind  can  bring  itself  to  the  study 
of  the  beautiful  as  something  of  co-equal 
worth  with  the  moral.  Let  us  leave  that, 
says  the  Teuton,  to  the  nation  whose  word 
for  love  of  art  is  "  virtue."  How  Whittier 
would  have  abhorred  in  his  youth  and  early 
manhood  the  following  sentiment  by  one  of 
the  Latin  race:  — 

"  The  arts  require  idle,  delicate  minds,  not 
stoics,  especially  not  Puritans,  easily  shocked 
by  dissonance,  inclined  to  sensuous  pleasure, 
employing  their  long  periods  of  leisure,  their 
free  reveries,  in  harmoniously  arranging,  and 
with  no  other  object  but  enjoyment,  forms, 
colors,  and  sounds."  (Taine's  English  Lit- 
erature, II.  332.)  Or  the  following  from 
the  same  work:  — 

"  The  Puritan  destroys  the  artist,  stiffens 
the  man,  fetters  the  writer,  and  leaves  of 
artist,  man,  writer,  only  a  sort  of  abstract 
being,  the  slave  of  a  watchword.  If  a  Mil- 
ton springs  up  among  them,  it  is  because,  by 
his  wide  curiosity,  his  travels,  his  compre- 
hensive education,  and  by  his  independence 


THE  ARTIST.  221 

of  spirit,  loftily  adhered  to  even  against  the 
sectarians,  Milton  passes  beyond  sectarian- 
ism." (1.397,398.) 

Here  is  another  passage  from  Whittier 
on  this  same  subject.  It  is  almost  a  pity 
to  give  it,  since  the  author  has  apparently 
repudiated  the  sentiment  by  omitting  the 
lines  from  his  complete  works.  In  the  intro- 
duction to  w  Supernaturalism  of  New  Eng- 
land" he  says: — 

"If  in  some  few  instances,  like  Burns  in 
view  of  his  national  thistle,  I  have  — 

'Turned  my  weeding-hook  aside, 
And  spared  the  symbol  dear,' 

I  have  been  influenced  by  the  comparatively 
innocent  nature  and  simple  poetic  beauty  of 
the  traditions  in  question;  yet  not  even  for 
the  sake  of  poetry  and  romance  would  I 
confirm  in  any  mind  a  pernicious  credulity, 
or  seek  to  absolve  myself  from  that  stern 
duty  which  the  true  man  owes  to  his  genera- 
tion, to  expose  error  whenever  and  wherever 
he  finds  it." 

One  more  instance.  In  one  of  his  sketches 
he  is  describing  an  old  custom  called  "  Pope 
Night,"  which  has  been  kept  up  in  the  Mer- 


222        JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

rimack  Valley  in  unbroken  sequence  from 
the  time  of  the  Guy  Fawkes  plot.  The  plot 
is  commemorated  by  bonfires  and  effigies  of 
the  Pope  and  others,  and  Whittier  quotes 
these  lines  of  a  song  which  is  sung  on  the 
occasion:  — 

"  Look  here  !  from  Rome 
The  Pope  has  come, 

That  fiery  serpent  dire  ; 
Here's  the  Pope  that  we  have  got, 
The  old  promoter  of  the  plot ; 
We'll  stick  a  pitchfork  in  his  back, 

And  throw  him  in  the  fire." 

Mr.  Whittier  was  so  broad-minded  in  re- 
gard to  all  matters  pertaining  to  true  growth, 
and  withal  so  conscientious  a  student  of  the 
best  versification,  that  is,  the  most  natural, 
that  we  soon  find  him  striving,  at  least,  to 
free  himself  from  all  these  minor  faults. 

Consequently  his  mannerisms  more  and 
more  drop  away.  He  is  a  born  preacher. 
And  presently  we  see  in  him  a  decided 
advance  toward  the  delineation  of  what  is 
simply  true  and  beautiful,  without  the  ap- 
preciable pause  by  the  way,  "  to  point  a 
moral  and  adorn  a  tale."  For  a  preacher  is 
not  a  poet;  and  true  poetic  fire  must  be 


THE  ARTIST. 


223 


dimmed  at  once,  and  the  divine  afflatus  be 
a  lack-lustre  thing,  when  appeals  by  pious 
exhortation  are  brought  in  to  fill  out  rhyme 
and  metre.  Many  of  Whittier's  purely  reli- 
gious poems  are  the  most  exquisite  and 
beautiful  ever  written.  The  tender  feeling, 
the  warm-hearted  trustfulness,  and  the  rev- 
erent touch  of  his  hymns  speak  directly  to 
our  hearts.  The  prayer-hymn  at  the  close 
of  "The  Brewing  of  Soma"  ("Dear  Lord 
and  Father  of  mankind,"  etc.),  and  such 
poems  as  "  At  Last "  and  "  The  Wish  of 
To-day,"  are  unsurpassed  in  sacred  song. 
Some  one  has  said  that  in  Whittier's  books 
we  rarely  meet  with  ideas  expressed  in  such 
perfection  and  idiosyncrasy  of  manner  that 
ever  afterward  the  same  ideas  must  recur  to 
our  minds  in  the  words  of  this  author  and 
no  other ;  that  is  to  say,  there  are  few  dicta, 
few  portable  and  universally-quoted  passages 
in  his  writings.  But  exception  must  be 
made  in  favor  of  his  best  hymns.  Their 
stanzas  haunt  the  mind  with  their  beauty, 
and  you  are  obliged  to  learn  them  by  heart 
before  you  can  have  peace.  These  purely 
religious  productions  show  Whittier's  work 
at  high-water  mark,  and  as  long  as  the 


224  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

English  language  is  spoken,  they  will  be 
employed  by  those  who  require  a  vehicle  for 
thought,  by  which  the  true  worship  may  be 
served.  There  is  only  one  poet  in  the  world 
whose  works  will  not  suffer  by  reading  his 
entire  poetical  productions  in  consecutive 
perusal,  and  that  is  Shakspere.  Poetry 
should  be  read  solely  for  the  refreshment 
and  elevation  of  the  mind,  and  only  when 
one's  mood  requires  it.  Unquestionably,  if 
so  read,  all  mannerisms  that  Mr.  Whittier 
might  have  been  accused  of  at  an  early 
stage  in  his  authorship  would  not  appear  so 
conspicuous. 

One  of  the  mannerisms  of  our  poet  is  his 
inclination  toward  the  four-foot  line  with 
consecutive  or  alternate  rhymes.  Almost 
all  of  Burns's  poetry  is  written  as  just  de- 
scribed ;  and  it  is  evident  Mr.  Whittier's  ear 
was  naturally  inclined  to  it,  from  his  early 
love  for  Burns,  his  patron  saint,  as  it  were, 
in  those  then  untrodden  fields.  An  ear  edu- 
cated by  Tennyson,  and  the  other  Victo- 
rian poets,  might  be  unable  to  grasp  even 
the  beauty  of  thought  unless  conveyed  by 
their  especial  methods.  One  is  pleased 
when  rhymes  are  so  masked,  so  subtly  inter- 


THE  ARTIST.  225 

twined,  and  parted  by  intervening  lines,  that 
each  shall  seem  like  a  delicate  echo  of 
that  which  preceded  it,  —  the  assonance  just 
remembered,  and  no  more. 

A  minor  mannerism  of  Whittier  is  his 
frequent  use  of  the  present  participle  in  ing, 
with  the  verb  to  be;  "is  flowing,"  "is  shin- 
ing," etc.  The  jingle  of  the  ing  evidently 
caught  the  poet's  rhyme-loving  ear,  and 
sometimes  it  really  has  a  very  pretty  effect. 
Certain  it  is  he  has  used  it  with  great  skill, 
and  given  his  readers  insight  into  another 
of  his  versatile  gifts. 

As  to  the  originality  of  our  poet  there 
is  this  to  be  said  :  He  has  a  distinctively 
national  spirit  or  vision  ;  he  is  democratic 
in  his  feelings,  and  treats  of  indigenous 
subjects.  His  vehicle,  his  poetic  forms  and 
handling,  he  has  treated  as  minor  subjects 
for  thought.  He  is  democratic,  not  so  power- 
fully and  broadly  as  Whitman,  but  more  un- 
affectedly and  sincerely.  He  has  not  the 
magnificent  prophetic  vision,  or  Vorstellungs- 
kraft,  of  Whitman,  any  more  than  he  has  the 
crushing  mastodon-steps  of  Whitman's  pon- 
derous rhythm.  But  he  has  thrown  himself 

15 


226  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

with  trembling  ardor  and  patriotism,  into 
the  life  of  his  country.  It  is  this  fresh, 
New-World  spirit  that  entitles  him  to  be 
called  original :  he  is  non-European.  He 
has  not  travelled  much,  nor  mingled  in  the 
seething  currents  of  Western  and  Southern 
life ;  but  his  strong  sympathy  has  gone  forth 
over  the  entire  land.  He  also  reflects  faith- 
fully the  quiet  scenes  of  his  own  Merrimack 
Valley.  From  his  descriptions  of  these 
scenes  we  receive  the  impression  of  fresh- 
ness and  originality;  and  we  recognize  a 
master  hand  that  can  so  portray  them  as  to 
make  us  see  the  same  places,  though  only 
on  the  printed  page. 

One  regrets  using  a  critical  pen  at  all  in 
discussing  such  a  writer.  It  would  be  un- 
gracious to  call  to  a  severe  account  one  who 
places  the  most  modest  estimate  upon  his 
own  work,  and  who  has  distinctly  stated 
that,  up  to  "about  the  year  1865,  his  writ- 
ings were  simply  episodical,  something  apart 
from  the  real  object  and  aim  of  [his]  life." 
It  is  hard  to  criticise  severely  one  who  is 
unjust  to  himself  through  excess  of  diffident 
humility.  In  the  exquisite  Proem  to  his 


THE  ARTIST. 


227 


complete  poems  he  would  fain  persuade  us 
that  he  cannot  breathe  such  notes  as  those 
of  — 

"  The  old  melodious  lays 
Which  softly  melt  the  ages  through, 

The  songs  of  Spenser's  golden  days, 

Arcadian  Sidney's  silvery  phrase, 
Sprinkling  our  noon  of  time  with  freshest  morning  dew." 

But  not  so,  O  gentle  minstrel  of  Essex! 
There  are  poems  of  thine  which  thousands 
prefer  to  the  best  of  Spenser's  or  Sidney's, 
and  which  will  continue  to  exist  as  long  as 
beauty  is  its  own  excuse  for  being.  Thou 
too  hast  been  in  Paradise,  to  fetch  thence 
armfuls  of  dewy  roses  for  our  delight ;  not 
mounting  thither  by  the  "stairway  of  suf- 
prise,"  but  along  the  common  highway  of 
daily  duty  and  noble  endeavor,  unmindful 
of  the  dust  and  heat  and  chafing  burdens, 
but  singing  aloud  thy  songs  of  lofty  cheer, 
all  magically  intertwined  with  pictures  of 
wayside  flowers,  and  the  homely  beauty  of 
lowliest  things.  And  thou  hast  imparted  to 
us  the  "  groping  of  the  keys  of  the  heavenly 
harmonies,"  that  no  one  who  loves  thy  songs, 
ever  loses  from  his  life. 


228  POEMS  SERIATIM. 


CHAPTER  III. 

POEMS     SERIATIM. 

AMONG  the  three  or  four  critical  papers 
on  Whittier  that  have  up  to  this  time  been 
published,  there  is  one  that  is  marked  by 
exceptional  vigor;  namely,  the  admirable 
philosophical  analysis  by  Mr.  David  A. 
Wasson,  published  in  \hzAtlantic  Monthly 
for  March,  1864.  The  author  gladly  ac- 
knowledges his  indebtedness  to  this  paper 
for  several  things,  —  chiefly  for  its  keen 
aper$u  into  the  nature  of  Whittier's  genius, 
and  the  proper  psychological  grouping  of 
his  poems.  Mr.  Wasson's  classification  can 
hardly  be  improved  upon  in  its  general 
features.  He  divides  the  literary  life  of  the 
poet  into  three  epochs,  —  The  Struggle  for 
Life,  The  Culture  Epoch,  and  The  Epoch 
of  Poetic  Realism;  and  between  each  of 
these  he  places  transitional  periods.  The 
lines  of  his  classification,  however,  are  too 


GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.         2 29 

sharply  drawn,  and  the  epochs  seem  too 
minutely  subdivided.  Moreover,  the  pres- 
ent writer  would  add  an  introductory  or 
preparatory  period;  in  other  respects  it 
seems  to  him  that  the  grouping  is  as  correct 
as  such  mathematical  measurements  of  a 
poet's  development  can  be.  Suppose  we 
group  and  name  the  poet's  mental  epochs 
as  follows:  — 

FIRST  PERIOD.  —  INTRODUCTORY.     1830-1833. 

During  this  quiet,  purely  literary  epoch, 
Whittier  published  "  Legends  of  New  Eng- 
land" and  "Moll  Pitcher,"  and  edited  the 
"  Literary  Remains  of  Brainard." 

SECOND  PERIOD.  —  STORM  AND  STRESS.     1833-1853. 

The  beginning  of  this  period  was  marked        ^~    ^ 
by  the  publication  of  "Justice  and  Expedi-  «y 
ency,"    and     during    its    continuance    were 
written  most  of  the  anti-slavery  productions, 
the  Indian  poems,  many  legendary  lays  and 
prose  pieces,  religious   lyrics,  and    "Songs 
of  Labor."     The  latter,  being  partially  free 
from  didacticism,  leads  naturally  up  to  the 
third  period. 


230  POEMS  SERIATIM. 

THIRD  PERIOD.  —  TRANSITION.  1853-1860 
This  Mr.  Wasson  calls  the  epoch  of  cul- 
ture and  religious  doubt,  the  central  poems 
of  which  are  "  Chapel  of  the  Hermits  "  and 
w  Questions  of  Life."  We  now  begin  to 
see  a  love  of  art  for  art's  sake,  and  there 
are  fewer  moral  stump-speeches.  The  in- 
dignation of  the  reformer  is  giving  place 
to  the  calm  repose  of  the  artist.  And  such 
ballads  as  "  Mary  Garvin "  and  "  Maud 
Muller"  form  the  introduction  to  the  cul- 
minating (or  fourth)  epoch  in  the  poet's 
creative  life. 

FOURTH  PERIOD.  —  RELIGIOUS  AND  ARTISTIC  REPOSE. 

1860- 

During  this  time  have  been  written  nearly 
all  the  author's  great  works,  namely,  his 
beautiful  ballads,  as  well  as  "Snow-Bound" 
and  "The  Tent  on  the  Beach."  The  liter- 
ary style  is  now  mature.  The  beautiful  is 
sought  for  its  own  sake,  both  in  nature  and 
in  lowly  life.  It  is  a  season  of  trust  and 
naive  simplicity. 

The  works  produced  during  the  Intro- 
ductory period  have  already  been  discussed 
in  the  biographical  portion  of  this  volume. 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.        231 

Before  passing  rapidly  in  review  some  of 
the  more  important  detached  poems  of  the 
three  latter  periods  (reserving  a  number  of 
poems  for  consideration  by  groups),  we 
must  be  allowed  to  offer  a  few  criticisms 
on  the  earlier  poems  in  general,  meaning 
by  this  the  ones  published  previous  to  the 
"  Songs  of  Labor  "  in  1850.  These  earlier 
productions  are  to  be  commended  chiefly 
for  two  things:  (i)  the  subjects  are  drawn 
from  original  and  native  sources,  and  (2)  the 
slavery  poems  are  full  of  moral  stamina 
and  fiery  indignation  at  oppression.  There 
are  single  poems  of  great  merit  and  beaut}'. 
But  the  style  of  most  of  them  is  unoriginal, 
being  merely  an  echo  of  that  of  the  English 
Lake  School.  Whittier's  poetical  develop- 
ment has  been  a  steady  growth.  His  genius, 
matured  late,  and  in  his  early  poems  there 
is  little  promise  of  the  exquisite  work  of 
his  riper  years,  unless  it  is  a  distinct  indi- 
cation of  his  rare  power  of  telling  a  story 
in  verse.  Nit  must  be  remembered  that 
when  Whittier  began  to  write,  Anjfiric 
literature  had  yet  to  be  created.  There 
was  not  a  single  great  American  poem,  with 
the  exception  of  Bryant's  "  Thanatopsis." 


232  POEMS  SERIATIM. 

The  prominent  poets  of  that  time  —  Percival, 
Brainard,  Trumbull,  Joel  Barlow,  Hillhouse, 
Pierpont,  Dana,  Sprague— are  all  forgotten 
now.  The  breath  of  immortality  was  not 
upon  anything  they  wrote.  A  national  litera- 
ture is  a  thing  of  slow  growth.  Every  writer 
is  insensibly  influenced  by  the  intellectual 
tone  of  his  neighbors  and  contemporaries. 
Judged  in  the  light  of  his  early  disadvan- 
tages, and  estimated  by  the  standard  of  that 
time,  Whittier's  first  essays  are  deserving 
of  much  credit,  and  they  have  had  a  distinct 
aesthetic  and  moral  value  in  the  develop- 
ment of  American  literature  and  the  Ameri- 
can character.  But  their  deficiencies  are 
very  grave.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  com- 
monplace, and  much  extravagance  of  rhet- 
oric. There  are  a  great  many  "  Lines " 
called  forth  by  circumstances  not  at  all 
poetical  in  their  suggestions.  Emotion  and 
rhyme  and  commonplace  incident  are  not 
enough  to  make  a  poem.  One  cannot  em- 
balm the  memory  of  all  one's  friends  in 
verse.  In  casting  about  for  an  explanation 
of  the  circumstance  that  our  poet  has  so 
often  chosen  tame  and  uninspiring  themes 
for  his  poems,  we  reach  the  conclusion  that 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.  233 

it  is  due  to  his  solitary  and  uneventful  life, 
and  to  the  subdued  and  art-chilling  atmos- 
phere of  his  Quaker  religion.  You  get,  at 
any  rate,  no  true  impression  of  the  intellec- 
tual breadth  of  the  poet's  mind  from  many 
of  the  productions  of  the  period  we  are  con- 
sidering :  the  theme  is  too  weak  to  support 
the  poetical  structure  reared  upon  it.  The 
poems  and  essays  are  written  by  one  un- 
toughened  and  unvitalized  by  varied  and 
cheerful  intercourse  with  men  and  affairs,  a 
state  of  mind  that  was  changed  considerably 
as  Mr.  Whittier  emerged  from  his  semi- 
obscurity  into  a  larger  comprehension  of  his 
own  powers. 

A  minor  fault  of  this  period  is  the  too  fre- 
quent interruption  of  explanatory  notes,  that 
break  and  mar  the  free-flowing  melody  of 
versified  thought.  We  find  the  same  blem- 
ish in  Longfellow's  early  work. 

At  the  opening  of  the  complete  poetical 
works  of  Whittier  stand  two  long  Indian 
poems,  with  their  war-paint  and  blood  — 
like  scarlet  maples  at  the  entrance  of  an 
aboriginal  forest.  The  first  of  these  poems, 
*'  Mogg  Megone,"  is  every  way  inferior  to 


234 


POEMS  SERIATIM. 


the  second,  or  "  The  Bridal  of  Pennacook." 
"  Mogg  Megone"  was  published  in  1836, 
and  "The  Bridal  of  Pennacook"  in  1848. 
Mr.  Whittier  half  apologizes  for  retaining 
the  former  of  these  in  his  complete  works. 
There  is,  amongst  much  that,  eliminated, 
might  not  be  missed,  a  certain  fresh  and 
realistic  diction,  or  nomenclature.  It  is  pict- 
uresque, in  portions  somewhat  dramatic  and 
thrilling,  and  now  is  valuable  as  a  link  be- 
tween the  early  stage  of  his  authorship  and 
the  advanced  culture  of  later  years.  In  style 
it  is  an  echo  of  Scott's  "  Lady  of  the  Lake  " 
or  "  Marmion." 

In  "  The  Bridal  of  Pennacook  "  we  have 
an  Indian  idyl  of  unquestionable  power  and 
beauty,  a  descriptive  poem  full  of  the  cool, 
mossy  sweetness  of  mountain  landscapes, 
and  although  too  artificial  and  subjective 
for  a  poem  of  primitive  life,  yet  saturated 
with  the  imagery  of  the  wigwam  and  the 
forest.  A  favorite  article  of  food  with  the 
Indians  of  Northern  Ohio  was  dried  bear's- 
meat  dipped  in  maple  syrup.  There  is  a 
savor  of  the  like  ferity  and  sweetness  in  this 
poem.  It  is  almost  wholly  free  from  the 
strongly-marked  faults  of  "  Mogg  Megone," 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.  235 

and  (that  test  of  all  tests)  it  is  pleasant 
reading.  Its  two  cardinal  defects  are  lack 
of  simplicity  of  treatment,  and  tenuity  or 
triviality  of  the  subject,  or  plot.  The  story 
is  sometimes  lost  sight  of  in  a  jungle  of 
verbiage  and  description.  In  contrasting 
such  a  poem  with  "  Hiawatha,"  we  see  the 
wisdom  of  Longfellow  in  choosing  an  an- 
tique vehicle,  or  rhythmic  style.  Aborigines 
have  a  dialect  of  their  own ;  the  sentences 
of  an  Indian  brave  being  as  abrupt  and 
sharp  as  the  wild  screams  of  an  eagle.  The 
set  speeches  of  the  North  American  Indians 
are  always  full  of  divers  stock  metaphors 
about  natural  scenery,  wild  animals,  totems, 
and  spirits,  and  are  so  different  from  those 
of  civilized  life  that  an  expert  can  instantly 
detect  a  forgery  or  an  imitation,  so  that 
all  incongruities  that  attribute  the  complex 
and  refined  emotions  of  civilized  life  to  the 
savage,  seriously  mar  the  pleasure  of  the 
reader.  The  descriptions  of  natural  scenery 
in  these  Indian  legends  of  Mr.  Whittier's 
are  fine,  as  all  such  writing  by  his  facile  pen 
was  ever  felicitous.  And  by  virtue  of  this 
descriptive  power,  these  idyls  will  be  held 
long  in  grateful  remembrance. 


236  POEMS  SERIATIM. 

In  plan  the  poem  is  like  the  w  Decam- 
eron," the  "  Princess,"  the  "  Canterbury 
Tales,"  and  "Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn." 
The  different  portions  are  supposed  to  be 
related  by  live  persons,  —  a  lawyer,  a  clergy- 
man, a  merchant  and  his  daughter,  and  the 
poet, —  who  are  all  sight-seeing  in  the  White 
Mountains.  The  opening  description,  in 
blank  verse,  conveys  a  vague  but  not  very 
powerful  impression  of  sublimity.  The 
musical  nomenclature  of  the  red  aborigines 
is  finely  handled,  and  such  words  as  Penna- 
cook,  Babboosuck,  Contoocook,  Bashaba, 
and  Weetamoo  chime  out  here  and  there 
along  the  pages  with  as  silvery  a  sweetness 
as  the  Tuscan  words  in  Macaulay's  "  Lays." 
At  the  wedding  of  Weetamoo  wre  have  — 

"  Pike  and  perch  from  the  Suncook  taken, 
Nuts  from  the  trees  of  the  Black  Hills  shaken, 
Cranberries  picked  from  the  Squamscot  bog, 
And  grapes  from  the  vines  of  Piscataquog : 

And,  drawn  from  that  great  stone  vase  which  stands 
In  the  river  scooped  by  a  spirit's  hands, 
Garnished  with  spoons  of  shell  and  horn, 
Stood  the  birchen  dishes  of  smoking  corn." 

The  following  stanza  on  the  heroine, 
Weetamoo,  is  a  fine  one:  — 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.          237 

"  Child  of  the  forest !  —  strong  and  free, 

Slight-robed,  with  loosely  flowing  hair, 
She  swam  the  lake,  or  climbed  the  tree, 

Or  struck  the  flying  bird  in  air. 
O'er  the  heaped  drifts  of  winter's  moon 

Her  snow-shoes  tracked  the  hunter's  way ; 
And,  dazzling  in  the  summer  noon, 
The  blade  of  her  light  oar  threw  off  its  shower  of 
spray !  " 

The  "Song  of  Indian  Women,"  at  the 
close  of  "  The  Bridal  of  Pennacook,"  is  ad- 
mirable for  melody,  weird  and  wild  beauty, 
and  naturalness.  It  is  a  lament  for  the  lost 
Weetamoo,  who,  unfortunate  in  her  married 
life,  has  committed  suicide  by  sailing  over 
the  rapids  in  her  canoe:  — 

"  The  Dark  Eye  has  left  us, 

The  Spring-bird  has  flown ; 
On  the  pathway  of  spirits 

She  wanders  alone. 

The  song  of  the  wood-dove  has  died  on  our  shore,  — 
Mat  wonck  kunna-monee ! — We  hear  it  no  more! 

O  mighty  Sowanna ! 

Thy  gateways  unfold, 
From  thy  wigwams  of  sunset 

Lift  curtains  of  gold  ! 

Take  home  the  poor  Spirit  whose  journey  is  o'er,  — 
Mat  wonck  kunna-monee  ! —  We  see  her  no  more ! " 


238  POEMS  SERIATIM. 

There  are  two  minor  Indian  poems  by 
Whittier  that  have  the  true  ring;  namely, 
the  "Truce  of  Piscataqua "  and  "Funeral 
Tree  of  the  Sokokis."  The  latter  well- 
known  poem  is  pitched  in  as  high  and  sol- 
emn a  key  as  Platen's  "Grab  im  Busento," 
a  poem  similar  in  theme  to  Whittier's:  — 

"  They  heave  the  stubborn  trunk  aside, 
The  firm  roots  from  the  earth  divide,  — 
The  rent  beneath  yawns  dark  and  wide. 

And  there  the  fallen  chief  is  laid, 
In  tasselled  garbs  of  skins  arrayed, 
And  girded  with  his  wampum-braid." 

Whittier. 

"  In  der  wogenleeren  Hohlung  wiihlten  sie  empor  die 

Erde, 
Senkten  tief  hinein  den  Leichnam,  mit  der  Riistung 

auf  dem  Pferde. 

Deckten  dann  mit  Erde  wieder  ihn  und  seine  stolze 
Habe." 

Platen. 

In  the  empty  river-bottom  hurriedly  they  dug  the  death- 
pit, 

Deep  therein  they  sank  the  hero  with  his  armor  and  his 
war-steed, 

Covered  then  with  earth  and  darkness  him  and  all  his 
splendid  trappings. 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.        239 

When  the  reader,  who  has  worked 


ily  along  through  Whittier's  anti-slavery  and  -,  >, 
miscellaneous  poems,  reaches  the  "  Songs " 
of  Labor,"  he  feels  at  once  the  breath  of  a 
fresher  spirit, —  as  a  traveller  who  has  been 
toiling  for  weary  leagues  through  sandy 
deserts  bares  his  brow  with  delight  to  the 
coolness  and  shade  of  a  green  forest  through 
whose  thick  roof  of  leaves  the  garish  sun- 
light scarcely  sifts.  We  feel  that  in  these 
poems  a  new  departure  has  been  made. 
The  wrath  of  the  reformer  has  expended 
itself,  and  the  poet  now  returns,  with  mind 
elevated  and  more  tensely  keyed  by  his 
moral  warfare,  to  the  study  of  the  beautiful 
in  native  themes  and  in  homely  life.  "The 
Shipbuilders,"  "The  Shoemakers,"  "The 
Fishermen,"  and  "The  Huskers  "  are  genu- 
ine songs;  and  more  shame  to  the  crafts- 
men celebrated  if  they  do  not  get  them 
set  to  music,  and  sing  them  while  at  their 
work.  One  cannot  help  feeling  that  Walt"  ,^Jy' 
Whitman's  call  for  some  one  to  make  • 
songs  for  American  laborers  had  already 
been  met  in  a  goodly  degree  by  these 
spirited  "  Songs  of  Labor."  What  work- 
man would  not  be  glad  to  carol  such 


240  POEMS  SERIATIM. 

stanzas  as  the  following,  if  they  were  set  to 
popular  airs? 

"  Hurrah !  the  seaward  breezes 

Sweep  down  the  bay  amain  ; 
Heave  up,  my  lads,  the  anchor ! 

Run  up  the  sail  again  ! 
Leave  to  the  lubber  landsmen 

The  rail-car  and  the  steed  : 
The  stars  of  heaven  shall  guide  us, 

The  breath  of  heaven  shall  speed." 

The  Fishermen 

"  Ho !  workers  of  the  old  time  styled 

The  Gentle  Craft  of  Leather ! 
Young  brothers  of  the  ancient  guild, 

Stand  forth  once  more  together  ! 
Call  out  again  your  long  array, 

In  the  olden  merry  manner! 
Once  more,  on  gay  St.  Crispin's  day, 

Fling  out  your  blazoned  banner ! 

Rap,  rap !  upon  the  well-worn  stone 

How  falls  the  polished  hammer  ! 
Rap,  rap !  the  measured  sound  has  grown 

A  quick  and  merry  clamor. 
Now  shape  the  sole !  now  deftly  curl 

The  glossy  vamp  around  it, 
And  bless  the  while  the  bright-eyed  girl 

Whose  gentle  fingers  bound  it !  " 

The  Shoemakers. 

The  publication   of  "  The  Chapel  of  the 
Hermits"  and  "Questions  of  Life,"  in  1853, 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.         24! 

marks  (as  has  been  said)  the  period  of  cul- 
ture and  of  religious  doubt,  —  doubt  which 
ended  in  trust.  In  this  period  we  have 
such  genuine  undidactic  poems  as  "  The 
Barefoot  Boy." 

"  Blessings  on  thee,  little  man, 
Barefoot  boy,  with  cheek  of  tan! 
With  thy  turned-up  pantaloons, 
And  thy  merry  whistled  tunes  ; 
With  thy  red  lip,  redder  still 
Kissed  by  strawberries  on  the  hill ; 
With  the  sunshine  on  thy  face, 
Through  thy  torn  brim's  jaunty  grace." 

Also,  such  fine  poems  as  "  Flowers  in  Win- 
ter" and  "To  My  Old  Schoolmaster;"  as 
well  as  the  excellent  ballads,  "Maud  Mul- 
ler,"  "  Kathleen,"  and  "  Mary  Garvin." 

The  period  in  Whittier's  life  from  about 
1858  to  1868  we  may  call  the  Ballad  Dec- 
ade,* for  within  this  time  were  produced  most 
of  his  immortal  ballads.  We  say  immor- 
tal, believing  that  if  all  else  that  he  has 
written  shall  perish,  his  finest  ballads  will 
carry  his  name  down  to  a  remote  posterity. 

*  The  beginning  of  this  decade  nearly  coincides  with  the 
fourth  or  final  period  in  our  classification,  upon  the  consider- 
ation of  which  we  shall  now  enter. 
16 


242  POEMS  SERIATIM. 

"The  Tent  on  the  Beach"  is  mainly  a  series 
of  ballads;  and  "Snow-Bound,"  although 
not  a  ballad,  is  still  a  narrative  poem  closely 
allied  to  that  species  of  poetry,  the  differ- 
ence between  a  ballad  and  an  idyl  being 
that  one  is  made  to  be  sung  and  the  other 
to  •  be  read :  both  narrate  events  as  they 
occur,  and  leave  to  the  reader  all  sentiment 
and  reflection. 

The  finest  ballads  of  Whittier  have  the 
power  of  keeping  us  in  breathless  sus- 
pense of  interest  until  the  denouement  or 
the  catastrophe,  as  the  case  may  be.  The 
popularity  of  "  Maud  Muller "  is  well  de- 
served. What  a  rich  and  mellow  translu- 
cence  it  has!  How  it  appeals  to  the 
universal  heart!  And  yet  "The  Witch's 
Daughter"  and  "Telling  the  Bees"  are 
more  exquisite  creations  than  "Maud  Mul- 
ler": they  have  a  spontaneity,  a  subtle 
pathos,  a  sublimated  sweetness  of  despair 
that  take  hold  of  the  very  heart-strings,  and 
thus  deal  with  deeper  emotions  than  such 
light,  objective  ballads  as  "  Maud  Muller " 
and  "  Skipper  Ireson's  Ride."  But  the  sur- 
face grace  of  the  two  latter  have  of  course 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.        243 

made  them  the  more  popular,  just  as  the 
"Scarlet  Letter"  finds  greater  favor  with 
most  people  than  does  "  The  House  of  .the 
Seven  Gables,"  although  Hawthorne  rightly 
thought  the  "Seven  Gables"  to  be  his  finest 
and  subtlest  work. 

Mark  the  Chaucerian  freshness  of  the 
opening  stanzas  of  "  The  Witch's  Daugh- 
ter":— 

"  It  was  the  pleasant  harvest  time, 

When  cellar-bins  are  closely  stowed, 
And  garrets  bend  beneath  their  load, 

And  the  old  swallow-haunted  barns  — 
Brown-gabled,  long,  and  full  of  seams 
Through  which  the  moted  sunlight  streams. 

And  winds  blow  freshly  in,  to  shake 
The  red  plumes  of  the  roosted  cocks,  ;  . 

And  the  loose  hay-mow's  scented  locks  — 

Are  filled  with  summer's  ripened  stores, 
Its  odorous  grass  and  barley  sheaves, 
From  their  low  scaffolds  to  their  eaves." 

A  companion  ballad  to  "The  Witch's 
Daughter "  is  "  The  Witch  of  Wenham," 
a  poem  almost  equal  to  it  in  merit,  and  like 
it  ending  happily.  These  ballads  do  not 


244  POEMS  SERIATIM. 

quite  attain  the  almost  supernatural  sim- 
plicity of  Wordsworth's  "  Lucy  Gray  "  and 
"We  are  Seven";  but  they  possess  an 
equal  interest,  excited  by  the  same  poetical 
qualities.  "Telling  the  Bees,"  however, 
seems  to  the  writer  as  purely  Words- 
worthian  as  anything  Wordsworth  ever 
wrote :  — 

"  Stay  at  home,  pretty  bees,  fly  not  hence  ! 
Mistress  Mary  is  dead  and  gone  ! " 

How  the  tears  spring  to  the  eyes  in  read- 
ing this  immortal  little  poem!  The  bee- 
hives ranged  in  the  garden,  the  sun  "tan- 
gling his  wings  of  fire  in  the  trees,"  the 
dog  whining  low,  the  old  man  "with  his 
cane  to  his  chin,"  —  we  all  know  the  scene: 
its  every  feature  appeals  to  our  sympathies 
and  associations. 

"The  Double-headed  Snake  of  Newbury" 
is  a  whimsical  story,  in  which  the  poet 
waxes  right  merry  as  he  relates  how  — 

"  Far  and  wide  the  tale  was  told, 
Like  a  snowball  growing  while  it  rolled. 
The  nurse  hushed  with  it  the  baby's  cry ; 
And  it  served,  in  the  worthy  minister's  eye, 
To  paint  the  primitive  serpent  by. 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.         245 

Cotton  Mather  came  galloping  down 

All  the  way  to  Newbury  town, 

With  his  eyes  agog  and  his  ears  set  wide, 

And  his  marvellous  inkhorn  at  his  side ; 

Stirring  the  while  in  the  shallow  pool 

Of  his  brains  for  the  lore  he  learned  at  school, 

To  garnish  the  story,  with  here  a  streak 

Of  Latin,  and  there  another  of  Greek : 

And  the  tales  he  heard  and  the  notes  he  took, 

Behold  !  are  they  not  in  his  Wonder-Book  ? " 

A  word  about  Whittier's  "Prophecy  of 
Samuel  Sewall."  It  seems  that  old  Judge 
Sewall  made  the  prophecies  of  the  Bible  his 
favorite  study.  One  of  his  ideas  was  that 
America  was  to  be  the  site  of  the  New  Jeru- 
salem. Toward  the  end  of  his  book  entitled 
"Phenomena  Quaedam  Apocalyptica;  .  .  . 
or  ...  a  Description  of  the  New  Heaven 
as  it  makes  to  those  who  stand  upon  the 
New  Earth"  (1697),  he  gives  utterance  to 
the  triumphant  prophecy  that  forms  the  sub- 
ject of  Whittier's  poem.  His  language  is 
so  quaint  that  the  reader  will  like  to  see  the 
passage  in  Sewall's  own  words :  — 

"  As  long  as  Plum  Island  shall  faithfully 
keep  the  commanded  post,  notwithstanding 
all  the  hectoring  words  and  hard  blows  of 


246  POEMS  SERIATIM. 

the  proud  and  boisterous  ocean;  as  long  as 
any  salmon  or  sturgeon  shall  swim  in  the 
streams  of  Merrimac,  or  any  perch  or  pick- 
erel in  Crane  Pond;  as  long  as  the  sea-fowl 
shall  know  the  time  of  their  coming,  and 
not  neglect  seasonably  to  visit  the  places 
of  their  acquaintance;  as  long  as  any  cattle 
shall  be  fed  with  the  grass  growing  in 
the  meadows,  which  do  humbly  bow  down 
themselves  before  Turkey  Hill;  as  long  as 
any  sheep  shall  walk  upon  Old-Town  Hills, 
and  shall  from  thence  pleasantly  look  down 
upon  the  River  Parker,  and  the  fruitful 
marshes  lying  beneath;  as  long  as  any  free 
and  harmless  doves  shall  find  a  white  oak 
or  other  tree  within  the  township,  to  perch, 
or  feed,  or  build  a  careless  nest  upon,  and 
shall  voluntarily  present  themselves  to  per- 
form the  office  of  gleaners  after  barley-har- 
vest; as  long  as  Nature  shall  not  grow  old 
and  dote,  but  shall  constantly  remember  to 
give  the  rows  of  Indian  corn  their  educa- 
tion by  pairs;  so  long  shall  Christians  be 
born  there,  and  being  first  made  meet,  shall 
from  thence  be  translated  to  be  made  par- 
takers of  the  inheritance  of  the  saints  in 
light." 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.         247 

Moses  Coit  Tyler,  in  his  "  History  of 
American  Literature,"  II.,  p.  102  (note), 
says:  "Whittier  speaks  of  Newbury  as 
Sewall's  '  native  town,'  but  Sewall  was 
born  at  Horton,  England.  He  also  de- 
scribes Sewall  as  an  ?  old  man,'  propped  on 
his  staff  of  age  when  he  made  this  proph- 
ecy; but  Sewall  was  then  forty-five  years 
old." 

There  are  two  or  three  other  ballads  in 
which  Whittier  is  said  to  have  made  histori- 
cal blunders.  It  really  does  not  seem  of 
much  importance  whether  he  did  or  did  not 
get  the  precise  facts  in  each  case.  The 
important  point  is  that  he  made  beautiful 
ballads.  But  it  will  be  right  to  give,  in 
brief,  the  objections  that  have  been  brought 
against  "  Skipper  Ireson's  Ride  "  and  "  Bar- 
bara Frietchie."  "The  King's  Missive" 
will  be  discussed  in  another  place.. 

Apropos  of  Skipper  Ireson,  Mr.  John  W. 
Chadwick  has  spoken  as  follows  in  Har- 
per's  Monthly  for  July,  1874:  — 

"  In  one  of  the  queerest  corners  of  the 
town  [Marblehead],  there  stands  a  house 


248  POEMS  SERIATIM. 

as  modest  as  the  Lee  house  was  magnifi- 
cent. So  long  as  he  lived  it  was  the  home 
of  ?  Old  Flood  Oirson,'  whose  name  and 
fame  have  gone  farther  and  fared  worse 
than  any  other  fact  or  fancy  connected  with 
his  native  town.  Plain,  honest  folk  don't 
know  about  poetic  license,  and  I  have  often 
heard  the  poet's  conduct  in  the  matter  of 
Skipper  Ireson's  ride  characterized  with 
profane  severity.  He  unwittingly  departed 
from  the  truth  in  various  particulars.  The 
wreck  did  not,  as  the  ballad  recites,  contain 
any  of  'his  own  town's-people.'  Moreover, 
four  of  those  it  did  contain  were  saved  by 
a  whale-boat  from  Provincetown.  It  was 
off  Cape  Cod,  and  not  in  Chaleur  Bay,  that 
the  wreck  was  deserted;  and  the  desertion 
was  in  this  wise:  It  was  in  the  night  that 
the  wreck  was  discovered.  In  the  darkness 
and  the  heavy  sea  it  was  impossible  to  give 
assistance.  When  the  skipper  went  below, 
he  ordered  the  watch  to  lie  by  the  wreck 
till  'doming';  but  the  watch  wilfully  dis- 
obeyed, and  afterward,  to  shield  them- 
selves, laid  all  the  blame  upon  the  skipper. 
Then  came  the  tarring  and  feathering.  The 
women,  whose  role  in  the  ballad  is  so  strik- 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.         249 

ing,  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  The  vehicle 
was  not  a  cart,  but  a  dory;  and  the  skipper, 
instead  of  being  contrite,  said,  r  I  thank  you 
for  your  ride.'  I  asked  one  of  the  skipper's 
contemporaries  what  the  effect  was  on  the 
skipper.  ?  Cowed  him  to  death,'  said  he, 
f  cowed  him  to  death.'  He  went  skipper 
again  the  next  year,  but  never  afterward. 
He  had  been  dead  only  a  year  or  two  when 
Whittier's  ballad  appeared.  His  real  name 
was  not  Floyd,  as  Whittier  supposes,  but  Ben- 
jamin, ? Flood'  being  one  of  those  nicknames 
that  were  not  the  exception,  but  the  rule,  in 
the  old  fishing-days.  For  many  years  before 
his  death  the  old  man  earned  a  precarious 
living  by  dory-fishing  in  the  bay,  and  selling 
his  daily  catch  from  a  wheelbarrow.  AVhen 
old  age  and  blindness  overtook  him,  and  his 
last  trip  was  made,  his  dory  was  hauled  up 
into  the  lane  before  his  house,  and  there 
went  to  rot  and  ruin.  .  .  .  The  hoarse  re- 
frain of  Whittier's  ballad  is  the  best-known 
example  of  the  once  famous  Marblehead 
dialect,  and  it  is  not  a  bad  one.  To  what 
extent  this  dialect  was  peculiar  to  Marble- 
head  it  might  be  difficult  to  determine. 
Largely,  no  doubt,  it  was  inherited  from 


250  POEMS  SERIATIM. 

English  ancestors.  Its  principal  delight 
consisted  in  pronouncing  o  for  a,  and  a 
for  o.  For  example,  if  an  old-fashioned 
Marbleheader  wished  to  say  he  r  was  born 
in  a  barn,'  he  would  say,  ?  I  was  barn  in  a 
born.'  The  e  was  also  turned  into  a,  and 
even  into  o,  and  the  v  into  -w.  r  That  ves- 
sel's stern '  became  ?  that  wessel's  starn,'  or 
fstorn.'  I  remember  a  schoolboy  declaim- 
ing from  Shakspere,  '  Thou  little  Walliant, 
great  in  willany.'  There  was  a  great  deal 
of  shortening.  The  fine  name  Crownin- 
shield  became  Grounsel,  and  Florence  be- 
came Flurry,  and  a  Frenchman  named 
Blancpied  found  himself  changed  into 
Blumpy.  Endings  in  une  and  iftg  were 
alike  changed  into  in.  Misfortune  was  mis- 
fartin',  and  fishing  was  always  fishin'.  There 
were  words  peculiar  to  the  place.  One  of 
these  was  planchment  for  ceiling.  Crim 
was  another,  meaning  to  shudder  with  cold, 
and  there  was  an  adjective,  crimmy.  Still 
another  was  ditch,  meaning  to  stick  badly, 
surely  an  onomatopoetic  word  that  should 
be  naturalized  before  it  is  too  late.  Some 
of  the  swearing,  too,  was  neither  by  the 
throne  nor  footstool,  such  as  'Dahst  my 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.         25  I 

eyes ! '  and  ?  Godfrey  darmints.'  The  ancient 
dialect  in  all  its  purity  is  now  seldom  used. 
It  crops  out  here  and  there  sometimes  where 
least  expected,  and  occasionally  one  meets 
with  some  old  veteran  whose  speech  has 
lost  none  of  the  ancient  savor." 

Now  for  "Barbara  Frietchie."  The  inci- 
dent of  the  poem  was  given  to  Whittier  by 
the  novelist,  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  Southworth, 
whose  letter  we  append.  The  philanthro- 
pist, Dorothea  Dix,  investigated  the  case  in 
Frederick,  and  she  says  that  Barbara  did 
wave  the  flag,  etc.  An  army  officer  also 
made  affidavit  of  the  truth  of  the  lines.  A 
young  Southern  soldier  has  declared  that 
he  was  present,  and  that  his  was  one  of  the 
shots  that  hit  the  flagstaff! 

On  the  other  side  are  Samuel  Tyler  and 
Jacob  Engelbrecht,  the  latter  an  old  and 
greatly  respected  citizen  of  Frederick,  and 
living  directly  opposite  Barbara's  house. 
Jacob  wrote  to  the  Baltimore  Sun,  saying 
that  Stonewall  Jackson's  corps  marched 
through  another  street,  and  did  not  approach 
Dame  Frietchie's  house  at  all.  Lee's  column 
did  pass  it,  he  says;  but  he,  who  stood 


252  POEMS  SERIATIM. 

watching  at  his  window,  saw  no  flag  what- 
ever at  her  window. 

He  says  that  when  ten  days  later  General 
McClellan  passed  through  the  town  she  did 
exhibit  a  flag. 

Finally,  General  Jubal  Early  comes  upon 
the  witness  stand,  and  testifies  that  as  the 
Southern  troops  passed  through  Frederick, 
there  were  only  two  cases  of  waving  of 
Union  flags;  one  of  these  was  by  a  little 
girl,  about  ten  years  old,  who  stood  on  the 
platform  of  a  house  and  waved  incessantly 
a  little  "candy  flag,"  and  cried  in  a  dull, 
monotonous  voice :  "  Hurrah  for  the  Stars 
and  Stripes !  Down  with  the  Stars  and 
Bars !  "  No  one  molested  her.  The  other 
case  was  that  of  a  coarse,  slovenly-looking 
woman,  who  rushed  up  to  the  entrance  of 
an  alley  and  waved  a  dirty  United  States 
flag. 

"  The  Pipes  at  Lucknow  "  is  a  poem  full 
of  martial  fire  and  lyric  rush,  —  the  subject 
a  capital  one  for  a  poet.  A  little  band  of 
English,  besieged  in  a  town  in  the  heart  of 
India,  and  full  of  despair,  hear  in  the  dis- 
tance the  sweetest  sound  that  ever  fell  upon 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.  253 

their  ears,  namely,  the  shrill  pibroch  of  the 
MacGregor  Clan  ;  and  — 


"  When  the  far-off  dust-cloud 
To  plaided  legions  grew, 
Full  tenderly  and  blithesomely 
The  pipes  of  rescue  blew  !  " 


Another  group  of  ballads  comprises  "  Cob- 
bler Keezar's  Vision,"  "Amy  Wentworth," 
and  "  The  Countess." 

In  the  first  of  these,  old  Cobbler  Keezar, 
of  the  early  Puritan  times,  by  virtue  of  a 
mystic  lapstone,  sees  a  vision  of  our  age 
of  religious  tolerance,  and  wonders  greatly 
thereat:  — 

"  Keezar  sat  on  the  hillside 
Upon  his  cobbler's  form, 
With  a  pan  of  coals  on  either  hand 
To  keep  his  waxed-ends  warm. 


And  there,  in  the  golden  weather, 

He  stitched  and  hammered  and  sung; 

In  the  brook  he  moistened  his  leather, 
In  the  pewter  mug  his  tongue." 


The  ballad  of  "  Amy  Wentworth  "  treats 
of  the  same  subject  as  "  Among  The  Hills," 


254  POEMS  SERIATIM. 

namely,  a  superior  woman,  of  the  white- 
handed  caste,  falling  in  love  with  and  mar- 
rying a  broad-shouldered,  brown-handed 
hero,  with  a  right  manly  heart  and  brain. 

Many  and  many  a  poem  of  Whittier's  is 
spoiled  by  its  too  great  length,  —  a  thing 
that  is  fatal  in  a  lyric.  The  long  prelude 
to  "Amy  Wentworth "  should  have  been 
omitted. 

The  scene  of  the  lovely  poem  entitled 
"  The  Countess  "  is  laid  in  Rocks  Village, 
a  part  of  East  Haverhill,  and  lying  on  the 
Merrimack,  where  — 

"  The  river's  steel-blue  crescent  curves 

To  meet,  in  ebb  and  flow, 
The  single  broken  wharf  that  serves 
For  sloop  and  gundelow. 

With  salt  sea-scents  along  its  shores 

The  heavy  hay-boats  crawl, 
The  long  antennae  of  their  oars 

In  lazy  rise  and  fall. 

Along  the  gray  abutment's  wall 

The  idle  shad-net  dries ; 
The  toll-man  in  his  cobbler's  stall 

Sits  smoking  with  closed  eyes." 

Whittier  dedicates  his  poem  to  his  father's 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.         255 

family  physician,  Elias  Weld,  of  Rocks 
Village.  The  story  which  forms  the  subject 
of  the  poem  is  a  romantic  one,  and  exqui- 
sitely has  our  poet  embalmed  it  in  verse. 
From  a  sketch  by  Rebecca  I.  Davis,  of  East 
Haverhill,  the  following  facts  relating  to  the 
personages  that  figure  in  the  poem  have 
been  culled  :  — 

The  Countess  was  Miss  Mary  Ingalls, 
daughter  of  Henry  and  Abigail  Ingalls,  of 
Rocks  Village.  She  was  born  in  1786, 
and  is  still  remembered  by  a  few  old  inhab- 
itants as  a  young  girl  of  remarkable  beauty. 
She  was  of  medium  height,  had  long  golden 
curls,  violet  eyes,  fair  complexion,  and  rosy 
cheeks,  and  was  exceedingly  modest  and 
lovable.  It  was  in  the  year  1806  that  a  little 
company  of  French  exiles  fled  from  the 
Island  of  Guadaloupe  on  account  of  a  bloody 
rebellion  or  uprising  of  the  inhabitants. 
Among  the  fugitives  were  Count  Francis  de 
Vipart  and  Joseph  Rochemont  de  Poyen. 
The  company  reached  Newburyport.  The 
two  gentlemen  just  mentioned  settled  at 
Rocks  Village,  and  both  married  there. 
Mary  Ingalls  was  only  a  laborer's  daughter, 
and  of  course  her  marriage  with  the  count 


256  POEMS  SERIATIM. 

created  a  sensation  in  the  simple,  rustic 
community.  The  count  was  a  pleasant, 
stately  man,  and  a  fine  violinist.  The  bridal 
dress,  says  Miss  Davis,  was  of  a  pink  satin, 
with  an  overdress  of  white  lace;  her  slip- 
pers also  were  of  white  satin.  The  count 
delighted  to  lavish  upon  her  the  richest  ap- 
parel, yet  nothing  spoiled  the  sweet  modesty 
of  her  disposition.  After  one  short  year  of 
happy  married  life  the  lovely  wife  died. 
Assiduous  attention  to  a  sick  mother  had 
brought  on  consumption.  In  the  village 
God's-acre  her  gray  tombstone  is  already 
covered  with  moss. 

The  count  returned  to  his  native  island 
overwhelmed  with  grief.  In  after  years, 
however,  he  married  again.  AVhen  he  died 
he  was  interred  in  the  family  burial-place 
of  the  De  Viparts  at  Bordeaux.  He  left 
several  children. 

Mr.  Stedman,  in  his  fine  synthetic  survey  of 
American  poetry,  published  in  The  Century, 
has  remarked  that  most  of  our  early  poetry 
and  painting  is  full  of  landscape.  The 
loveliest  season  in  America  is  the  autumn, 
when,  as  Whittier  beautifully  says,  the  woods 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.         257 

"wear  their  robes  of  praise,  the  south  winds 
softly  sigh,"  — 

"  And  sweet,  calm  days  in  golden  haze 
Melt  down  the  amber  sky." 

We  have  plenty  of  idyls  of  autumn  color, 
like  Buchanan  Read's  w  Closing  Scene,"  and 
portions  of  Longfellow's  "  Hiawatha."  But 
American  winter  landscapes  are  as  poetical 
as  those  of  autumn.*  It  is  probable  that 

*  What  is  the  subtle  fascination  that  lurks  in  such  bits  of 
winter  poetry  as  the  following,  collected  by  the  writer  out 
of  his  reading? 

"  Yesterday  the  sullen  year 
Saw  the  snowy  whirlwind  fly."  —  Gray. 

"  All  winter  drives  along  the  darkened  air."  —  Thomson. 

"  High-ridged  the  whirled  drift  has  almost  reached 
The  powdered  keystone  of  the  churchyard  porch  ; 
Mute  hangs  the  hooded  bell ;  the  tombs  lie  buried."  —  Grahame. 

"  Alas !  alas !  thou  snow-smitten  wood  of 
Troy,  and  mountains  of  Ida."  —  Sophocles. 

"  O  hard,  dull  bitterness  of  cold."—  Whittier. 

"  And  in  the  narrow  house  o'  death 
Let  winter  round  me  rave."  —  Burns. 

"  The  mesmerizer,  Snow, 
With  his  hand's  first  sweep 
Put  the  earth  to  sleep."  —  Robert  Browning. 

"And  the  caked  snow  is  shuffled 

From  the  plough-boy's  heavy  shoon."  —  Keats. 
17 


258  POEMS  SERIATIM, 

the  scarcity  of  snow-idyls  hitherto  is  due  to 
the  supposed  cheerlessness  of  the  snow. 
But  with  the  rapid  multiplication  of  winter 
comforts,  our  nature-worship  is  cautiously 
broadening  so  as  to  include  even  the  stern 
beauty  of  winter.  There  are  already  a  good 
many  signs  of  this  in  literature.  \Ve  have 
had,  of  late,  lovely  little  snow-and-winter 
vignettes  in  prose  by  John  Burroughs  of  New 
York,  and  Edith  Thomas  of  Ohio;  and  there 
is  plenty  of  room  for  further  study  of  winter 
in  other  regions  of  the  United  States.  The 
most  delicate  bit  of  realistic  winter  poetry  in 
literature  is  Emerson's  "  Snow-Storm."  Mr. 
Whittier  is  an  ardent  admirer  of  that  writer 
—  as  what  poet  is  not?  —  and  his  own  pro- 
ductions show  frequent  traces  of  Emersonian- 
isms.  He  has  prefixed  to  "  Snow-Bound " 
a  quotation  from  the  "  Snow-Storm,"  and 
there  can  scarcely  be  a  doubt  that  to  the 
countless  obligations  we  all  owe  Emerson 
must  be  added  this:  that  he  inspired  the 
writing  of  Whittier's  finest  poem,  and  the 
best  idyl  of  American  rural  life.  It  is  too 
complex  and  diffusive  fully  to  equal  in 
artistic  purity  and  plastic  proportion  the 
"Cotter's  Saturday  Night"  of  Burns;  but  it 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.         259 

is  much  richer  than  that  poem  in  felicitous 
single  epithets,  which,  like  little  wicket 
doors,  open  up  to  the  eye  of  memory  many 
a  long-forgotten  picture  of  early  life. 

"Snow-Bound"  was  published  in  1860, 
and  was  written,  Mr.  Whittier  has  said,  "to 
beguile  the  weariness  of  a  sick-chamber." 
The  poet  has  obeyed  the  canon  of  Lessing, 
and  instead  of  giving  us  dead  description 
wholly,  has  shown  us  his  characters  in  action, 
and  extended  his  story  over  three  days  and 
the  two  intervening  nights, —  that  is  to  say, 
the  main  action  covers  that  time:  the  whole 
time  mentioned  in  the  poem  is  a  week.  It 
is  unnecessary  to  give  here  any  further 
account  of  the  idyl  than  has  already  been 
furnished  in  the  account  of  Whittier's  boy- 
hood. 

"  The  Tent  on  the  Beach  "  is  a  cluster  of 
ballads.  In  accordance  with  a  familiar 
fiction,  they  are  supposed  to  be  sung,  or  told, 
by  several  persons,  in  this  case  three,  namely, 
the  poet  himself, "  a  lettered  magnate  "  (James 
T.  Fields),  and  a  traveller  (Bayard  Taylor). 
All  of  the  poems  are  readable,  and  many  of 
them  are  to  be  classed  among  Whittier's 
best  lyrics.  "  The  Wreck  of  Rivermouth,'" 


260  POEMS  SERIATIM. 

"The  Changeling,"  and  "  Kallundborg 
Church "  are  masterpieces  in  the  line  of 
ballads.  In  "  The  Dead  Ship  of  Harpswell " 
we  have  the  fine  phrase,  — 

"  O  hundred-harbored  Maine  !  " 

Whittier  has  now  become  almost  a  perfect 
master  of  verbal  melody.  Hearken  to  this :  — 

"  Oho  !  "  she  muttered,  "  ye're  brave  to-day  ! 
But  I  hear  the  little  waves  laugh  and  say, 
'  The  broth  will  be  cold  that  waits  at  home ; 
For  it's  one  to  go,  but  another  to  come ! '  " 

There  is  a  light  and  piquant  humor  about 
some  of  the  interludes  of  the  "Tent  on  the 
Beach."  The  song  in  the  last  of  these 
contains  a  striking  and  original  stanza 
concerning  the  ocean :  — 

"  Its  waves  are  kneeling  on  the  strand, 

As  kneels  the  human  knee, 
Their  white  locks  bowing  to  the  sand, 
The  priesthood  of  the  sea ! " 

"  Among  the  Hills  "  is  a  little  farm-idyl, 
or  love-idyl,  of  the  New  Hampshire  moun- 
tain land,  and  bearing  some  resemblance  to 
Tennyson's  "Gardener's  Daughter."  It  is 
an  excellent  specimen  of  the  poems  of 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.        26 1 

Whittier  that  reach  the  popular  heart,  and 
engage  its  sympathies.  In  the  remotest 
farm-houses  of  the  land  you  are  almost  sure 
to  find  among  their  few  books  a  copy  of 
Whittier's  Poems,  well-thumbed  and  soiled 
with  use.  The  opening  description  of  the 
prelude  to  "Among  the  Hills  "  could  not  be 
surpassed  by  Bion  or  Theocritus.  In  this 
poem  a  fresh  interest  is  excited  in  the  reader 
by  the  fact  that  the  city  woman  falls  in  love 
with  a  manly  farmer,  thus  happily  reversing 
the  old,  old  story  of  the  city  man  wooing 
and  winning  the  rustic  beauty.  The  farmer 
accuses  the  fair  city  maid  of  coquetry.  She 
replies: 

" '  Nor  frock  nor  tan  can  hide  the  man ; 

And  see  you  not,  my  farmer, 
How  weak  and  fond  a  woman  waits 
Behind  this  silken  armor? 

*  I  love  you :  on  that  love  alone, 

And  not  my  worth,  presuming, 
Will  you  not  trust  for  summer  fruit 
The  tree  in  May-day  blooming  ? ' 

Alone  the  hangbird  overhead, 
His  hair-swung  cradle  straining, 

Looked  down  to  see  love's  miracle, — 
The  giving  that  is  gaining." 


262  POEMS  SERIATIM. 

In  "  Lines  on  a  Fly-Leaf,"  the  author  of 
"  Snow-Bound  "  gives  in  his  hearty  adherence 
to  that  movement  for  the  elevation  of  woman, 
and  the  securing  of  her  rights  as  a  human 
being,  which  is  perhaps  the  most  significant 
and  important  of  the  many  agitations  of  this 
agitated  age. 

The  poem "  Miriam,"  like  "  The  Preacher," 
is  one  of  those  long  sermons,  or  meditations 
in  verse,  which  Whittier  loves  to  spin  out 
of  his  mind  in  solitude.  It  contains  in 
"  Shah  Akbar  "  a  fine  Oriental  ballad. 

The  narrative  poem  called  "The  Penn- 
sylvania Pilgrim,"  published  in  1872,  has  no 
striking  poetical  merit,  but  is  valuable  and 
readable  for  the  pleasant  light  in  which  it 
sets  forth  the  doings  of  the  quaint  people 
of  Germantown  and  the  Wissahickon,  near 
Philadelphia,  nearly  two  hundred  years  ago. 
It  introduces  us  to  the  homes  and  hearts  of  the 
little  settlements  of  German  Quakers  under 
Francis  Daniel  Pastorius,  the  Mystics  under 
the  leadership  of  Magister  Johann  Kelpius, 
and  the  Mennonites  under  their  various 
leaders.  "The  Pennsylvania  Pilgrim"  is 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.         263 

a  poem  for  Quakers,  for  Philadelphians  who 
love  their  great  park  and  its  Wissahickon 
drives,  and  for  antiquarian  historical  students. 
We  may  regret,  if  we  choose,  that  the  poet 
has  not  succeeded  in  embalming  the  memory 
of  the  Germantown  Quakers  in  such  felicitous 
verse  as  other  poets  have  sung  the  virtues 
and  ways  of  the  Puritans,  but  we  cannot 
deny  that  he  has  garnished  with  the  flowers 
of  poetry  a  dry  historical  subject,  and  so 
earned  the  gratitude  of  a  goodly  number  of 
students  and  scholars. 

In  "The  King's  Missive,  and  Other 
Poems,"  published  in  1881,  the  most  notable 
piece  is  "  The  Lost  Occasion,"  a  poem  on 
Daniel  Webster,  finer  even  than  the  much- 
admired  "Ichabod,"  published  many  years 
previously.  "  The  Lost  Occasion  "  is  pitched 
in  a  high,  solemn,  and  majestic  strain.  It 
is  a  superb  eulogy,  full  of  magnanimity  and 
generous  forgiveness.  Listen  to  a  few 
stanzas :  — 

"  Thou 

Whom  the  rich  heavens  did  endow 
With  eyes  of  power  and  Jove's  own  brow, 
With  all  the  massive  strength  that  fills 
Thy  home-horizon's  granite  hills, 


264  POEMS  SERIATIM. 

Whose  words,  in  simplest  home-spun  clad, 
The  Saxon  strength  of  Caedmon  had, 

Sweet  with  persuasion,  eloquent 
In  passion,  cool  in  argument, 
Or,  ponderous,  falling  on  thy  foes 
As  fell  the  Norse  god's  hammer  blows, 

Too  soon  for  us,  too  soon  for  thee, 
Beside  thy  lonely  Northern  sea, 
Where  long  and  low  the  marsh-lands  spread, 
Laid  wearily  down  thy  august  head." 

The  poem  of  "  The  King's  Missive  "  calls 
for  such  extended  discussion  that  a  brief 
chapter  shall  be  devoted  to  it. 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WlllTTJER.          265 


CHAPTER   IV. 


"  Under  the  great  hill  sloping  bare 

To  cove  and  meadow  and  Common  lot, 

In  his  council  chamber  and  oaken  chair, 

Sat  the  -worshipful  Governor  Endicott." 

So  run  the  opening  lines  of  the  histor- 
ical poem  contributed  by  Whittier  to  the 
first  volume  of  the  Memorial  History  of 
Boston  (1880).  While  the  governor  is  thus 
sitting,  in  comes  Clerk  Rawson  with  the  un- 
welcome news  that  banished  Quaker  Shat- 
tuck,  of  Salem,  has  returned  from  abroad. 
The  choleric  governor  swears  that  he  will 
now  hew  in  pieces  the  pestilent,  ranting 
Quakers.  Presently  Shattuck  is  ushered  in: 
"Off  with  the  knave's  hat,"  says  the  gov- 
ernor. As  they  strike  off  his  hat  he  smil- 
ingly holds  out  the  Missive,  or  mandamus, 
of  Charles  II.  The  governor  immediately 
asks  him  to  cover,  and  humbly  removes  his 
own  hat.  The  king's  letter  commands  him 


266  THE  KING'S  MISSIVE. 

to  cease  persecuting  the  Quakers.  After 
consultation  with  the  deputy  governor,  Bel- 
iingham,  he  obeys,  and  the  then  imprisoned 
Quakers  file  out  of  jail  with  words  of  praise 
on  their  lips. 

The  poem  fascinates  us,  for  the  incident 
is  dramatic,  and  focusses  in  a  single  pictur- 
esque situation  all  the  features  of  that  little 
historical  episode  of  two  hundred  years  ago, 
*".  £.,  the  persecution  of  the  Quakers  by  the 
Puritan  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts. 
A  brief  setting  forth  of  the  facts  connected 
with  this  persecution  will  not  only  be  full 
of  intrinsic  interest,  but  is  indispensable 
to  a  right  understanding  of  the  Quaker 
poet's  inherited  character,  as  well  as  to  a 
comprehension  of  his  prose  and  poetry. 
One  whose  ancestors  have  been  persecuted 
for  generations  will  inherit  a  loathing  of 
oppression,  as  Whittier  has  done.  And  this 
hatred  of  tyranny  will  be  intensified  in  the 
case  of  one  who  is  thoroughly  read  in  the 
literature  of  that  persecution,  and  is  in  quick 
and  intimate  sympathy  with  the  victims, 
as  Whittier  is. 

But  first  a  word  more  about  the  t<!  King's 
Missive."  Joseph  Besse,  in  his  "  Collection 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.         267 

of  the  Sufferings  of  the  People  called  Qua- 
kers "  (a  sort  of  "  Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs," 
in  two  huge  antique  volumes),  says  [II., 
p.  226]  that  the  principal  instrument  in  pro- 
curing the  royal  mandamus  (styled  by 
Whittier  the  King's  Missive)  was  Edward 
Burroughs,*  who  went  to  the  king  and  told 
him  that  "There  was  a  Vein  of  innocent 
Blood  open'd  in  his  Dominions,  which  if  it 
were  not  stopt  might  over-run  all.  To 
which  the  king  replied,  'But  I  will  stop  that 
Vein.'"  Accordingly,  in  the  autumn  of  1661, 
Samuel  Shattuck  was  selected  to  bear  a  let- 
ter to  America.  The  London  Friends  hired 
Ralph  Goldsmith,  also  a  Friend,  to  convey 
Shattuck  to  his  destination.  They  paid  him 
£300  for  the  service.  The  ship  entered 
Boston  Harbor  on  a  Sunday  in  the  latter 
part  of  November,  1661. 

"The  Townsmen,"  says  Besse,  "seeing  a 

*  "  There  is  a  story,"  says  Dr.  George  E.  Ellis,  "  that  Bur- 
roughs got  access  to  the  king  out  of  doors,  while  his  Majesty 
was  playing  tennis.  As  Burroughs  kept  on  his  hat  while 
accosting  the  king,  the  latter  gracefully  removed  his  plumed 
cap  and  bowed.  The  Quaker,  put  to  the  blush,  said,  'Thee 
need'st  not  remove  thy  hat.'  '  Oh,'  replied  the  king,  '  it  is  of 
no  consequence,  only  that  when  the  king  and  another  gentle- 
man are  talking  together  it  is  usual  for  one  of  them  to  take 
off  his  hat.' " 


268  THE  KING'S  MISSIVE. 

Ship  with  English  Colours,  soon  came  on 
board,  and  asked  for  the  Captain?  Ralph 
Goldsmith  told  them,  He  'was  the  Com- 
mander. They  asked,  \Vhetherhehadany 
Letters  ?  He  answered,  Tes.  But  withal 
told  them,  He  "would  not  deliver  them  that 
Day.  So  they  returned  on  shore  again, 
and  reported,  that  There  were  many  Quakers 
come,  and  that  Samuel  Shattock  (who  they 
knew  had  been  banished  on  pain  of  Death) 
ivas  among  them.  But  they  knew  nothing 
of  his  Errand  or  Authority.  Thus  all  was 
kept  close,  and  none  of  the  Ship's  Company 
suffered  to  go  on  shore  that  Day.  Next 
morning  Ralph  Goldsmith,  the  Commander, 
with  Samuel  Shattock,  the  King's  Dep- 
uty, went  on  shore,  and  sending  the  Boat 
back  to  the  Ship,  they  two  went  directly 
through  the  Town  to  the  Governour's  House, 
and  knockt  at  the  Door:  He  sending  a  Man 
to  know  their  Business,  they  sent  him  Word, 
that  Their  Message  was  from  the  King  of 
England,  and  that  they  would  deliver  it  to 
none  but  himself.  Then  they  were  ad- 
mitted to  go  in,  and  the  Governour  came  to 
them,  and  commanded  Samuel  Shattocfcs 
Hat  to  be  taken  off,  and  having  received  the 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.         269 

Deputation  and  the  Mandamtis,  he  laid  off 
his  own  Hat;  and  ordering  Shattock's  Hat  to 
be  given  him  again,  perused  the  Papers,  and 
then  went  out  to  the  Deputy-Governour's, 
bidding  the  King's  Deputy  and  the  Master 
of  the  Ship  to  follow  him:  Being  come  to 
the  Deputy-Governour,  and  having  consulted 
him,  he  returned  to  the  aforesaid  two  Per- 
sons and  said,  We  shall  obey  his  Majesty's 
Command.  After  this,  the  Master  of  the 
Ship  gave  Liberty  to  his  Passengers  to  come 
on  shore,  which  they  did,  and  had  a  religious 
Meeting  with  their  Friends  of  the  Town, 
where  they  returned  Praises  to  God  for  his 
Mercy  manifested  in  this  wonderful  Deliver- 
ance." 

The  persecution,  it  is  true,  only  ceased 
for  about  a  year  (the  next  recorded  whip- 
ping-order bearing  date  of  December  22, 
1662).  But  the  Quakers  were  greatly  en- 
couraged by  the  interposition  in  their  favor. 

In  an  address  before  the  Massachusetts 
Historical  Society,  Dr.  George  E.  Ellis,  of 
Boston,  read  a  paper  criticising  Mr.  Whit- 
tier's  "  King's  Missive."  This  address  was 
published  in  the  Proceedings  of  the  Society 
for  March,  1881.  In  the  "Memorial  History 


270  THE  KIN&S  MISSIVE. 

of  Boston"  [I.,  p.  1 80]  he  asserts  that  the 
Quakers  were  all  "of  low  rank,  of  mean 
breeding,  and  illiterate."  He  says  that  they 
courted  persecution,  and  that  they  were  a 
pestilent  brood  of  ranters,  disturbers  of  the 
public  peace,  and  dreaded  by  the  leaders  of 
the  infant  Commonwealth  as  they  would 
have  dreaded  the  cholera.  He  quotes  Roger 
Williams,  who  wrote  of  the  Quakers  that 
they  were  "  insufferably  proud  and  conten- 
tious," and  advised  a  "  due  and  moderate 
restraint  of  their  incivilities."  Dr.  Ellis,  it 
is  true,  takes  the  theoretical  ground  of  "the 
equal  folly  and  culpability  of  both  parties  in 
the  tragedy,"  but  seems  entirely  to  nullify 
this  statement  by  his  apparently  unbiassed, 
but  really  partisan  treatment  of  the  subject. 
When  you  have  finished  his  paper  you  per- 
ceive that  the  impression  left  on  your  mind 
is  that  the  really  bitter  and  unrelenting  Pu- 
ritan persecutors  were  long-suffering,  angelic 
natures,  while  their  victims,  the  Quakers, 
were  mere  gallows'  dogs.  His  theoretical 
position  is  summed  up  in  the  following 
words :  — 

"The  crowning   folly  or   iniquity   in   the 
course  of  the  Puritans  was  in  following  up 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.          2JI 

their  penal  inflictions,  through  banishments, 
imprisonments,  fines,  scourgings,  and  mutila- 
tions, to  the  execution  on  the  gallows  of  four 
martyr  victims.  But  what  shall  we  say  of 
the  persistency,  the  exasperating  contempt- 
uousness  and  defiance,  the  goading,  madden- 
ing obstinacy,  and  reproaching  invectives  of 
those  who  drove  the  magistrates,  against 
their  will,  to  vindicate  their  own  insulted 
authority,  and  to  stain  our  annals  with  inno- 
cent blood  ?  "  —  Memorial  History  of  Boston, 
I.,  1882. 

Dr.  Ellis  is  right  in  holding  that  some  of 
the  Quakers  were  gadflies  of  obstinacy,  and 
full  of  self-righteous  pride;  but  he  fails  to 
tell  us  of  the  patience,  Christian  sweetness, 
and  meekness  of  character  of  the  majority 
of  them;  and  it  is  only  when  we  turn  to  the 
pages  of  Fox  and  Besse  that  we  see  the  in- 
adequate character  of  such  a  picture  as  that 
drawn  by  Dr.  Ellis.  In  the  plain,  naive 
annals  of  Besse,  the  hard-heartedness  and 
haughty  pride  of  the  Puritan  magistrates 
(traits  still  amply  represented  in  their  de- 
scendants) are  thrown  into  the  most  strik- 
ing relief.  They  glower  over  their  victims 
like  tigers ;  they  are  choked  with  their 


272  THE  KING'S  MISSIVE. 

passions;  they  spurn  excuses  and  palliatives; 
they  demand  blood. 

In  the  Boston  Daily  Advertiser Tor  March 
29,  1881,  Mr.  Whittier  published  a  long 
reply  to  Dr.  Ellis,  in  which  he  fortified  the 
positions  taken  by  him  in  his  ballad,  show- 
ing that  he  did  not  mean  to  hold  up  Charles 
II.  as  a  consistent  friend  of  toleration,  and 
that  there  must  have  been  a  general  jail 
delivery  in  consequence  of  the  receipt  of  the 
mandamus.  He  says:  — 

"The  charge  that  the  Quakers  who  suf- 
fered were  r  vagabonds  '  and  ?  ignorant,  low 
fanatics,'  is  unfounded  in  fact.  Mary  Dyer, 
who  was  executed,  was  a  woman  of  marked 
respectability.  She  had  been  the  friend  and 
associate  of  Sir  Henry  Vane  and  the  minis- 
ters Wheelwright  and  Cotton.  The  papers 
left  behind  by  the  three  men  who  were 
hanged  show  that  they  were  above  the  com- 
mon class  of  their  day  in  mental  power  and 
genuine  piety.  John  Rous,  who,  in  execu- 
tion of  his  sentence,  had  his  right  ear  cut  off 
by  the  constable  in  the  Boston  jail,  was  of 
gentlemanly  lineage,  the  son  of  Colonel 
Rous  of  the  British  army,  and  himself  the 
betrothed  of  a  high-born  and  cultivated 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.         273 

young  English  lady.  Nicholas  Upsall  was 
one  of  Boston's  most  worthy  and  substantial 
citizens,  yet  was  driven  in  his  age  and  in- 
firmities, from  his  home  and  property,  into 
the  wilderness." 

Mr.  Whittier  further  remarks :  — 

w  Dr.  Ellis  has  been  a  very  generous,  as 
well  as  ingenious  defender  of  the  Puritan 
clergy  and  government,  and  his  labors  in 
this  respect  have  the  merit  of  gratuitous  dis- 
interestedness. Had  the  very  worthy  and 
learned  gentleman  been  a  resident  in  the 
Massachusetts  colony  in  1660,  one  of  his 
most  guarded  doctrinal  sermons  would  have 
brought  down  upon  him  the  wrath  of  clergy 
and  magistracy.  His  Socinianism  would  have 
seemed  more  wicked  than  the  r inward  light' 
of  the  Quakers;  and,  had  he  been  as  f  dog- 
gedly obstinate '  as  Servetus  at  Geneva  (as 
I  do  him  the  justice  to  think  he  would  have 
been),  he  might  have  hung  on  the  same  gal- 
lows with  the  Quakers,  or  the  same  shears 
which  clipped  the  ears  of  Holder,  Rous,  and 
Copeland  might  have  shorn  off  his  own." 

Let  us  look  a  little  more  closely  at  the 
evidence  on  both  sides. 

In  the  fourth  chapter  of  the  seventh  book 

18 


274  THE  KING'S  MISSIVE. 

of  Cotton  Mather's  "  Magnalia  "  we  have  a 
specimen  of  Quaker  rant.  After  stating  that 
he  is  opposed  to  the  capital  punishment  of 
Quakers,  but  advises  shaving  of  the  head,  or 
blood-letting,  the  proud  and  scornful  old 
doctor  concludes  as  follows:  — 

"  Reader,  I  can  foretell  what  usage  I  shall 
find  among  the  Quakers  for  this  chapter  of 
our  church-history;  for  a  worthy  man  that 
writes  of  them  has  observed,  for  -pride  and 
hypocrisie,  and  hellish  reviling  against 
the  painful  ministers  of  Christ,  I  know  no 
people  can  match  them.  Yea,  prepare, 
friend  Mather,  to  be  assaulted  with  such 
language  as  Fisher  the  Quaker,  in  his  pam- 
phlets, does  bestow  upon  such  men  as  Dr. 
Owen;  thou  fiery  fighter  and  green-headed 
trumpeter;  thou  hedgehog  and  grinning 
dog;  thou  bastard  that  tumbled  out  of  the 
mouth  of  the  Babilonish  bawd;  thou  mole; 
thou  tinker;  thou  lizzard;  thou  bell  of  no 
metal,  but  the  tone  of  a  kettle;  thou  wheel- 
barrow; thou  whirlpool;  thou  whirlegig. 
O  thou  firebrand;  thou  adder  and  scor- 
pion; thou  louse;  thou  cow-dung;  thou 
moon-calf;  thou  ragged  tatterdemallion; 
thou  Judas;  thou  livest  in  philosophy  and 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.         275 

logick  which  are  of  the  devil.  And  then 
let  Penn  the  Quaker  add,  Thou  gorman- 
dizing Priest,  one  of  the  abominable  tribe; 
thou  bane  of  reason,  and  beast  of  the  earth; 
thou  best  to  be  spared  of  mankind;  thou 
mountebank  -priest.  These  are  the  very 
words,  (I  wrong  them  not!)  which  they 
vomit  out  against  the  best  men  in  the  Eng- 
lish nation,  that  have  been  so  hardy  as  to 
touch  their  light  within  :  but  let  the  quills 
of  these  porcupines  fly  as  fast  as  they  will, 
I  shall  not  feel  them!  Yea,  every  stone  that 
these  Kildebrands  throw  at  me,  I  will  wear 
as  a  pearl" 

As  an  offset  to  this  quaint  and  amusing 
tirade,  and  to  the  charges  of  Dr.  Ellis,  one 
may  read  the  following  words  of  Whittier, 
and,  by  striking  a  general  average  between 
all  the  speakers,  get  a  tolerable  approxima- 
tion to  the  exact  truth.  Mr.  Whittier  says :  — 

"  Nor  can  it  be  said  that  the  persecution 
grew  out  of  the  ?  intrusion,'  ?  indecency,'  and 
f  effrontery'  of  the  persecuted. 

"  It  owed  its  origin  to  the  settled  purpose 
of  the  ministers  and  leading  men  of  the  col- 
ony to  permit  no  difference  of  opinion  on 
religious  matters.  They  had  banished  the. 


276  THE  KING'S  MISSIVE. 

Baptists,  and  whipped  at  least  one  of  them. 
They  had  hunted  down  Gorton  and  his 
adherents;  they  had  imprisoned  Dr.  Child, 
an  Episcopalian,  for  petitioning  the  Gen- 
eral Court  for  toleration.  They  had  driven 
some  of  their  best  citizens  out  of  their 
jurisdiction,  with  Ann  Hutchinson,  and  the 
gifted  minister,  Wheelwright.  Any  dissent 
on  the  part  of  their  own  fellow-citizens 
was  punished  as  severely  as  the  heresy  of 
strangers. 

"The  charge  of  ? indecency '  comes  with 
ill-grace  from  the  authorities  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts Colony.  The  first  Quakers  who 
arrived  in  Boston,  Ann  Austin  and  Mary 
Fisher,  were  arrested  on  board  the  ship 
before  landing,  their  books  taken  from  them 
and  burned  by  the  constable,  and  they  them- 
selves brought  before  Deputy  Governor  Bel- 
lingham,  in  the  absence  of  Endicott.  This  as- 
tute magistrate  ordered  them  to  be  stripped 
naked  and  their  bodies  to  be  carefully 
examined^  to  see  if  there  was  not  the  DeviVs 
mark  on  them  as  'witches.  They  were  then 
sent  to  the  jail,  their  cell  window  was 
boarded  up,  and  they  were  left  without 
food  or  light,  until  the  master  of  the  vessel 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.         277 

that  brought  them  was  ordered  to  take  them 
to  Barbadoes.  When  Endicott  returned,  he 
thought  they  had  been  treated  too  leniently, 
and  declared  that  he  would  have  had  them 
whipped. 

"After  this,  almost  every  town  in  the 
province  was  favored  with  the  spectacle  of 
aged  and  young  women  stripped  to  the  mid- 
dle, tied  to  a  cart-tail  and  dragged  through 
the  streets  and  scourged  without  mercy  by 
the  constable's  whip.  It  is  not  strange  that 
these  atrocious  proceedings,  in  two  or  three 
instances,  unsettled  the  minds  of  the  victims. 
Lydia  Wardwell  of  Hampton,  who,  with 
her  husband,  had  been  reduced  to  almost 
total  destitution  by  persecution,  was  sum- 
moned by  the  church  of  which  she  had  been 
a  member  to  appear  before  it  to  answer  to 
the  charge  of  non-attendance.  She  obeyed 
the  call  by  appearing  in  the  unclothed  con- 
dition of  the  sufferers  whom  she  had  seen 
under  the  constable's  whip.  For  this  she 
was  taken  to  Ipswich  and  stripped  to  the 
waist,  tied  to  a  rough  post,  which  tore  her 
bosom  as  she  writhed  under  the  lash,  and 
severely  scourged  to  the  satisfaction  of  a 
crowd  of  lookers-on  at  the  tavern.  One, 


278  THE  KING'S  MISSIVE. 

and  only  one,  other  instance  is  adduced  in 
the  person  of  Deborah  Wilson  of  Salem. 
She  had  seen  her  friends  and  neighbors 
scourged  naked  through  the  street,  among 
them  her  brother,  who  was  banished  on  pain 
of  death.  She,  like  all  Puritans,  had  been 
educated  in  the  belief  of  the  plenary  inspi- 
ration of  Scripture,  and  had  brooded  over 
the  strange  *  signs '  and  testimonies  of  the 
Hebrew  prophets.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
the  time  had  arrived  for  some  similar  demon- 
stration, and  that  it  was  her  duty  to  walk 
abroad  in  the  disrobed  condition  to  which 
her  friends  had  been  subjected,  as  a  sign 
and  warning  to  the  persecutors.  Whatever 
of c indecency'  there  was  in  these  cases  was 
directly  chargeable  upon  the  atrocious  per- 
secution. At  the  door  of  the  magistrates 
and  ministers  of  Massachusetts  must  be  laid 
the  insanity  of  the  conduct  of  these  unfortu- 
nate women. 

"  But  Boston,  at  least,  had  no  voluntary 
Godivas.  The  only  disrobed  women  in  its 
streets  were  made  so  by  Puritan  sheriffs  and 
constables,  who  dragged  them  amidst  jeer- 
ing crowds  at  the  cart-tail,  stripped  for  the 
lash,  which  in  one  instance  laid  open  with 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.         279 

a    ghastly   gash    the    bosom    of    a    young 
mother!"* 

We  may  conclude  this  discussion  by  giv- 
ing a  few  instances  of  Quaker  persecutions, 
in  addition  to  those  mentioned  by  Mr.  Whit- 
tier.  In  England  the  members  of  the  sect 
suffered  a  whole  Jeremiad  of  woes:  they 
were  dragged  through  the  streets  by  the 
hair  of  the  head,  incarcerated  in  loathsome 
dungeons,  beaten  over  the  head  with  muskets, 
pilloried,  whipped  at  the  cart's-tail,  branded, 
their  tongues  bored  with  red-hot  irons,  and 
their  property  confiscated  to  the  State.  One 
First  Day,  George  Fox  went  into  the  "steeple- 
house  "  of  Tickhill.  "I  found,"  he  says  in 
his  Journal,  "the  priest  and  most  of  the 
chief  of  the  parish  together  in  the  chancel. 
I  went  up  to  them  and  began  to  speak;  but 
they  immediately  fell  upon  me;  the  clerk  up 
with  his  Bible,  as  I  was  speaking,  and  struck 
me  in  the  face  with  it,  so  that  my  face 

*  Mr.  Whittier  stated  to  a  member  of  the  Massachusetts 
Historical  Society  that  it  was  his  intention  "at  some  time  to 
prepare  a  full  and  exhaustive  history  of  the  relations  of  Puri- 
tan and  Quaker  in  the  seventeenth  century."  It  may  be  added 
that  the  newspaper  articles  quoted  above,  with  the  several 
replications  of  their  authors,  may  all  be  found  in  the  Proceed- 
ings of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society  for  1880-81  (see 
the  index  of  that  volume). 


280  THE  KINGS  MISSIVE. 

gushed  out  with  blood,  and  I  bled  exceed- 
ingly in  the  steeple-house.  The  people 
cried,  'Let  us  have  him  out  of  the  church.' 
When  they  had  got  me  out,  they  beat  me 
exceedingly,  threw  me  down,  and  threw  me 
over  a  hedge.  They  afterwards  dragged 
me  through  a  house  into  the  street,  stoning 
and  beating  me  as  they  dragged  me  along; 
so  that  I  was  all  over  besmeared  with  blood 
and  dirt.  They  got  my  hat  from  me,  which 
I  never  had  again."  Fox  was  at  various 
times  thrust  into  dungeons  filled  ankle-deep 
with  ordure,  and  was  shot  at,  beaten  with 
stones  and  clubs,  etc. 

One  evening  he  passed  through  Cam- 
bridge: "\Vhen  I  came  into  the  town,  the 
scholars,  hearing  of  me,  were  up  and  ex- 
ceeding rude.  I  kept  on  my  horse's  back, 
and  rode  through  them  in  the  Lord's  power; 
but  they  unhorsed  Amor  Stoddart  before  he 
could  get  to  the  inn.  When  we  were  in  the 
inn,  they  were  so  rude  in  the  courts  and  in 
the  streets,  that  the  miners,  colliers,  and 
carters  could  never  be  ruder.  The  people 
of  the  house  asked  us  what  we  would  have 
for  supper.  '  Supper!'  said  I,  c  were  it  not 
that  the  Lord's  power  is  over  them,  these 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.         281 

rude  scholars  look  as  if  they  would  pluck  us 
in  pieces  and  make  a  suppc  r  of  us.'  They 
knew  I  was  so  against  the  trade  of  preach- 
ing, which  they  were  there  as  apprentices  to 
learn,  that  they  raged  as  bad  as  ever  Diana's 
craftsmen  did  against  Paul." 

In  the  declaration  made  by  the  Quakers  to 
Charles  II.  it  appears  that  in  New  England, 
up  to  that  time,  "thirty  Quakers  had  been 
whipped;  twenty-two  had  been  banished  on 
pain  of  death  if  they  returned;  twenty-five 
had  been  banished  upon  the  penalty  of  being 
whipped,  or  having  their  ears  cut,  or  being 
branded  in  the  hand  if  they  returned;  three 
had  their  right  ears  shorn  off  by  the  hang- 
man; one  had  been  branded  in  the  hand 
with  the  letter  H;  many  had  been  impris- 
oned; many  fined;  and  three  had  been  put 
to  death,  and  one  (William  Leddra)  was 
soon  after  executed." 

Besse,  in  his  "  Sufferings  of  the  Quakers," 
states  that  one  William  Brand,  a  man  in 
years,  was  so  brutally  whipped  by  an  in- 
furiated jailer,  in  Salem,  that  "  His  Back  and 
Arms  were  bruised  and  black,  and  the  Blood 
hanging  as  it  were  in  Bags  under  his  Arms, 
and  so  into  one  was  his  Flesh  beaten  that  the 


282  THE  KING'S  MISSIVE. 

Sign  of  a  particular  Blow  could  not  be  seen." 
And  the  surgeon  said  that  "  His  Flesh  would 
rot  from  off  his  Bones  e'er  the  bruized  Parts 
would  be  brought  to  digest."  To  all  this  must 
be  added  the  humiliating  fact  that  four  persons 
were  hanged  on  Boston  Common  for  the 
crime  of  being  Quakers.  Their  names  were 
Marrnaduke  Stephenson,  William  Robinson, 
William  Leddra,  and  Mary  Dyer. 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.        283 


CHAPTER  V. 

POEMS    BY    GROUPS. 

BESIDES  "  The  King's  Missive,"  Whittier 
has  written  numerous  other  Quaker  poems, 
the  finest  of  which  are  "Cassandra  South- 
wick,"  "The  Old  South,"  and  the  spirited, 
ringing  ballad  of  "  The  Exiles."  In  the  first 
two  of  these  the  poet  shows  a  delicate  intui- 
tion into  the  feelings  that  might  have 
prompted  the  Quaker  women  who  witnessed 
for  the  truth  in  Boston  two  hundred  years 
ago. 

There  is  nothing  in  American  literature, 
unless  it  be  the  anti-slavery  papers  of 
Thoreau,  which  equals  the  sevenfold-heated 
moral  indignation  of  Whittier's  poems  on 
slavery,  —  a  wild  melody  in  them  like  that 
of  Highland  pibrochs;  now  plaintively  and 
piteously  pleading,  and  nowburningwith  pas- 
sion, irony,  satire,  scorn ;  here  glowing  with 


284  POEMS  BY  GROUPS. 

tropical  imagery,  as  in  "  Toussaint  L'Ouver- 
ture,"  and  "  The  Slaves  of  Martinique,"  and 
there  rising  into  lofty  moral  atmospheres  of 
faith  when  all  seemed  dark  and  hopeless. 
Every  one  knows  the  power  of  a  "  cry  "  (a 
song  like  "John  Brown's  Body,"  or  a  pithy 
sentence  or  phrase)  in  any  great  popular 
movement.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that 
Whittier's  poems  did  as  much  as  Garrison's 
editorials  to  key  up  the  minds  of  people  to 
the  point  required  for  action  against  slavery. 
Some  of  these  anti-slavery  pieces  still  pos- 
sess great  intrinsic  beauty  and  excellence, 
as,  for  example,  "Toussaint  L'Ouverture," 
"The  Farewell,"  "The  Slave  Ships,"  and 
"  The  Slaves  of  Martinique."  In  these  four 
productions  there  is  little  or  none  of  the 
dreary  didacticism  of  most  of  the  anti-slavery 
poems,  but  a  simple  statement  of  pathetic, 
beautiful  fact,  which  is  left  to  make  its  own 
impression.  Another  powerful  group  of 
these  slavery  poems  is  constituted  by  the 
scornful,  mock-congratulatory  productions, 
such  as  "  The  Hunters  of  Men,"  "  Clerical 
Oppressors,"  "The  Yankee  Girl,"  "A  Sab- 
bath Scene,"  "Lines  suggested  by  Reading 
a  State  Paper  wherein  the  Higher  Law  is 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.        285 

Invoked  to  Sustain  the  Lower  One,"  and 
K  The  Pastoral  Letter."  *  The  sentences  in 
these  stanzas  cut  like  knives  and  sting  like 
shot.  The  poltroon  clergy,  especially,  looks 
pitiful,  most  pitiful,  in  the  light  of  Whittier's 
noble  scorn  and  contempt. 

"  Randolph  of  Roanoke  "  is  a  noble  tribute 
to  a  political  enemy  by  one  who  admired  in 
him  the  man.  The  long  poem,  "The  Pano- 
rama," must  be  considered  a  failure,  poetically 
speaking.  Its  showman's  pictures  and 
preachings  do  not  get  hold  of  our  sympathies 
very  strongly. 

The  Tyrtaean  fire  in  Whittier  was  so 
thoroughly  kindled  by  the  anti-slavery  con- 
flict that  it  has  never  wholly  gone  out.  All 
through  his  life  his  hand  has  instinctively 
sought  the  old  war-lyre  whenever  a  voice  was 
to  be  raised  in  honor  of  Freedom.  The  formal 
close  of  the  anti-slavery  period  with  him 
may  be  said  to  be  marked  by  "  Laus  Deo," 
a  triumphant,  almost  ecstatic  shout  of  joy 
uttered  on  hearing  the  bells  ring  when  the 
Constitutional  Amendmentabolishing  slavery 
was  passed. 

*  "The  Pastoral  Letter  "  was  an   idiotic  manifesto  of  the 
clergy  of  Massachusetts  aimed  at  the  Grimke"  sisters. 


286  POEMS  BY  GROUPS. 

Naturally,  the  war  poems  of  a  Quaker  — 
and  even  of  our  martial  Whittier  —  could 
not  be  equal  to  his  peace  poems.  Still  there 
are  many  strong  passages  in  the  lyrics  writ- 
ten by  Whittier  during  the  civil  war  of  1861- 
65.  At  first  he  counsels  that  we  allow  dis- 
union rather  than  kindle  the  lurid  fires  of 
fratricidal  war:  — 

"  Let  us  press 

The  golden  cluster  on  our  brave  old  flag 
In  closer  union,  and,  if  numbering  less, 
Brighter  shall  shine  the  stars  which  still  remain." 

A   Word  for  the  Hour 

So  he  wrote  in  January,  1861.  But 
afterward  he  becomes  a  pained  but  sadly 
approving  spectator  of  the  inevitable  con- 
flict: — 

"  Then  Freedom  sternly  said  :  '  I  shun 
No  strife  nor  pang  beneath  the  sun, 
When  human  rights  are  staked  and  won. 

The  moor  of  Marston  felt  my  tread, 
Through  Jersey  snows  the  march  I  led, 
My  voice  Magenta's  charges  sped.'  " 

The  Watchers. 

As  a  Friend,  he  and  his  brethren  could 
not  personally  engage  in  war.  But  they 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.         287 

could  minister  to  the  sick  and  dying,  and 
care  for  the  slave. 

"THE  SLAVE  IS   OURS!" 

he  says,  — 

"  And  we  may  tread  the  sick-bed  floors 

Where  strong  men  pine, 
And,  down  the  groaning  corridors, 
Pour  freely  from  our  liberal  stores 
The  oil  and  wine." 

Anniversary  Poem. 

"Barbara  Frietchie"  is,  of  course,  the 
best  of  these  war  lyrics.  The  "Song  of  the 
Negro  Boatmen  "  was  set  to  music  and  sung 
from  Maine  to  California  during  the  war 
days : — 

"  De  yam  will  grow,  de  cotton  blow, 

We'll  hab  de  rice  an'  corn ; 
O  nebber  you  fear,  if  nebber  you  hear 
De  driver  blow  his  horn  !  " 

After  "Voices  of  Freedom,"  in  the  com- 
plete edition  of  Whittier's  poems,  come 
a  cluster  of  Biblical,  or  Old  Testament 
poems,  —  "  Palestine,"  "  Ezekiel,"  "  The 
Wife  of  Manoah  to  her  Husband,"  "The 
Cities  of  the  Plain/'  "The  Crucifixion," 
and  "  The  Star  of  Bethlehem."  The  best 
of  these,  perhaps,  are  "  Cities  of  the  Plain," 


288  POEMS  BY  GROUPS. 

and  "Crucifixion," — the  former  intense  and 
thrilling  in  style,  and  suggesting  the  "  Sen- 
nacherib "  and  "Waterloo"  of  Byron;  the 
latter  a  high,  solemn  chant,  and  well  calcu- 
lated to  touch  the  religious  heart.  Whittier 
has  drawn  great  refreshment  and  inspiration 
from  the  thrice-winnowed  wheat  and  the  liv- 
ing-water wells  of  Old  Testament  literature. 

Allusion  has  already  been  made  to  the 
hymns  of  our  poet.  Hymn-book  makers 
have  had  in  his  poems  a  very  quarry  to 
work.  The  hymn  tinkers,  too,  have  not 
spared  Whittier  even  while  he  was  alive, 
and  many  of  his  sacred  lyrics  have  been 
"  adapted  "  after  the  manner  of  hymn-book 
makers.  Dr.  Martineau's  "  Hymns  of 
Praise"  (1874)  contains  seven  of  Whittier's 
religious  songs;  the  "  Unitarian  Hymn  and 
Tune  Book"  (1868)  also  has  seven;  the 
Plymouth  Collection  (1855)  has  eleven,  and 
Longfellow  and  Johnson's  "  Hymns  of  the 
Spirit"  (1864)  has  twenty-two. 

The  Essex  minstrel  has  written  quite  a 
number  of  children's  poems,  such  as  "  The 
Robin,"  "Red  Riding  Hood,"  and  "King 
Solomon  and  the  Ants."  He  has  also  com- 
piled two  books  of  selections  for  children, 
as  has  already  been  mentioned. 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.         289 

Like  many  authors,  Whittier  has  been  at- 
tracted, in  the  autumn  of  his  life,  to  the  rich 
fields  of  Oriental  literature.  His  Oriental 
poems  show  careful  and  sympathetic  study 
of  eastern  books.  "  The  Two  Rabbis  "  and 
"Shah  Akbar"  are  especially  fine.  The 
little  touch  in  the  former  of  "the  small 
weeds  that  the  bees  bow  with  their  weight" 
is  a  very  pretty  one.  In  "  The  King's  Mis- 
sive "  we  have  a  few  "  Oriental  Maxims," 
being  paraphrases  of  translations  from  the 
Sanscrit.  "The  Dead  Feast  of  the  Kol- 
Folk,"  and  "The  Khan's  Devil,"  are  also 
included  in  the  same  volume. 

Mr.  Whittier  has  also  made  successful 
studies  in  Norse  literature,  for  which  his 
beautiful  ballads,  the  "  Dole  of  Jarl  Thor- 
kell,"  "  Kallundborg  Church,"  and  "  King 
Volmer  and  Elsie  "  are  vouchers. 

19 


290  PROSE   WRITINGS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

PROSE  WRITINGS. 

IT  is  to  be  feared  that  the  greater  portion 
of  the  prose  writings  of  Whittier  will  be 
caviare  to  many  readers  of  this  day.  He 
himself  almost  admits  as  much  in  the  pref- 
atory note  to  the  second  volume  of  the  com- 
plete edition  of  his  essays.  That  many  of 
the  papers  are  entertaining  reading,  and  that 
they  are  written  often  in  a  light  and  genial 
and  vivacious  style,  is  true;  and,  as  he  him- 
self hints,  they  will  at  least  be  welcomed 
and  indulgently  judged  by  his  personal 
friends  and  admirers.  His  prose  work  was 
done  in  a  time  seething  with  moral  ideas; 
the  air  was  full  ^>f  reforms;  the  voice  of 
duty  sounded  loud  in  men's  consciences, 
and  the  ancestral  buckler  called  — 

"  Self-clanging,  from  the  walls 
In  the  high  temple  of  the  soul ! " 

Lffwell. 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WI1ITTIER.         29 1 

That  particular  era  is  now  passed.  The 
great  secular  heart  is  now  in  its  diastole,  or 
relaxation.  Hence  it  is-  that  the  philan- 
thropic themes  discussed  by  Mr.  Whittier 
thirty  years  ago  (and  most  of  his  essays  are 
of  a  philanthropic  character)  possess  but  a 
languid  interest  for  the  present  reading  pub- 
lic. The  artistic  essays,  however,  are 
charming,  and  possess  permanent  interest. 
Let  us  except  from  these  the  long  pro- 
ductions, "  Margaret  Smith's  Journal  "  and 
"My  Summer  with  Dr.  Singletary."  Some 
have  thought  these  to  be  the  best  papers 
in  the  collection.  But  to  many  they  must 
appear  frigid  and  old-fashioned  in  the  ex- 
treme. They  seem  aimless  and  sprawling, 
mere  esquisses,  tentative  work  in  a  field 
in  which  the  author  was  doubtful  of  his 
powers.  They  would  ordinarily  be  classed 
under  the  head  of  Sunday-school  literature. 
It  has  been  suggested  that  the  idea  of  "Mar- 
garet Smith's  Journal "  might  have  been 
derived  from  the  "Diary  of  Lady  Wil- 
loughby,"  which  appeared  about  the  same 
time.  "  The  Journal  "  is  a  reproduction  of 
the  antique  in  style  and  atmosphere,  and  is 
said  to  be  very  successful  as  far  as  that 


2Q2  PROSE    WRITINGS. 

goes.  But  certainly  the  iteration  of  the 
archaism,  "  did  do,"  "  did  write,"  etc.,  gets 
to  be  very  wearisome.  The  "Journal  "  pur- 
ports to  be  written  by  a  niece  of  Edward 
Rawson,  Secretary  of  Massachusetts  from 
1650-1686.  The  scene  is  laid  in  Newbury. 
where  Rawson  settled  about  1636.  We 
have  pleasant  pictures  of  the  colonial  life  of 
the  day,  of  the  Quakers  and  Indians  aad 
Puritans,  and,  on  the  whole,  the  sketch  is 
well  worth  reading  by  historical  students. 

rt  Old  Portraits  and  Modern  Sketches " 
consists  chiefly  of  newspaper  articles  on 
modern  reformers.  They  were  originally 
contributed  to  the  National  Era.  The 
portraits  drawn  are  those  of  John  Bunyan, 
Thomas  Ellwood,  James  Nayler,  Andrew 
Marvell,  John  Roberts,  Samuel  Hopkins, 
Richard  Baxter,  —  and,  among  Americans, 
William  Leggett  and  Nathaniel  Peabody 
Rogers,  —  both  anti-slavery  reformers  and 
journalists;  and,  lastly,  Robert  Dinsmore, 
the  rustic  Scotch-American  poet  of  Haver- 
hill.  The  last  three  papers  mentioned  are 
the  best. 

The  second  volume  of  Mr.  Whittier's 
prose  writings  bears  the  title  "  Literary 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.        293 

Recreations  and  Miscellanies,"  and  consists 
of  various  reviews,  thumb-nail  essays,  and 
indigenous  folk-and-nature  studies,  made  in 
the  region  of  the  Merrimack.  These  last 
are  of  most  interest,  and  indicate  the  field 
which  Mr.  Whittier  would  have  cultivated 
with  most  success.  In  the  reviews  of  the 
volume  the  newspapery  tone  and  journalist 
diction  are  rather  unpleasantly  conspicuous. 
As  a  critic,  our  poet  is  not  very  successful, 
because  he  is  too  earnest  a  partisan,  too 
merciless  and  undistinguishing  in  his  invec- 
tive or  too  generous  in  his  praise.  For 
example,  what  he  says  about  Carlyle,  in 
reviewing  that  author's  infamous  "Discourse 
on  the  Negro  Question,"  is  true  as  far  as  it 
goes.  But  of  the  elementary  literary  canon, 
that  the  prime  function  of  the  critic  is  to  put 
himself  in  the  place  of  the  one  he  is  criti- 
cising,—  of  this  law  Mr.  Whittier  has  not, 
practically,  the  faintest  notion.  He  con- 
siders everything  from  the  point  of  view  of 
the  Quaker  or  of  the  reformer. 

Numerous  specimens  of  Mr.  Whittier's 
prose  have  already  been  given  in  various  parts 
of  this  volume,  but  for  the  sake  of  illustration 
we  may  add  two  more.  For  an  example  of 


294  PROSE  WRITINGS. 

his  serious  style  take  the  following  from 
"Scottish  Reformers":  "He  who  under- 
takes to  tread  the  pathway  of  reform  —  who, 
smitten  with  the  love  of  truth  and  justice, 
or,  indignant  in  view  of  wrong  and  insolent 
oppression,  is  rashly  inclined  to  throw  him- 
self at  once  into  that  great  conflict  which  the 
Persian  seer  not  untruly  represented  as  a 
war  between  light  and  darkness  —  would  do 
well  to  count  the  cost  in  the  outset.  If  he 
can  live  for  Truth  alone,  and,  cut  off  from 
the  general  sympathy,  regard  her  service  as 
its  own  f  exceeding  great  reward  ';  if  he  can 
bear  to  be  counted  a  fanatic  and  crazy 
visionary;  if,  in  all  good  nature,  he  is  ready 
to  receive  from  the  very  objects  of  his  solici- 
tude abuse  and  obloquy  in  return  for  dis- 
interested and  self-sacrificing  efforts  for  their 
welfare;  if,  with  his  purest  motives  mis- 
understood and  his  best  actions  perverted 
and  distorted  into  crimes,  he  can  still  hold 
on  his  way  and  patiently  abide  the  hour 
when  'the  whirligig  of  Time  shall  bring 
about  its  revenges';  if,  on  the  whole,  he  is 
prepared  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  sort  of 
moral  outlaw  or  social  heretic  under  good 
society's  interdict  of  food  and  fire;  and  if  he 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER.         295 

is  well  assured  that  he  can,  through  all  this, 
preserve  his  cheerfulness  and  faith  in  man, 
—  let  him  gird  up  his  loins  and  go  forward 
in  God's  name.  He  is  fitted  for  his  voca- 
tion ;  he  has  watched  all  night  by  his  armor. 
.  .  .  Great  is  the  consciousness  of  right. 
Sweet  is  the  answer  of  a  good  conscience. 
He  who  pays  his  whole-hearted  homage  to 
truth  and  duty,  —  who  swears  his  life-long 
fealty  on  their  altars,  and  rises  up  a  Nazarite 
consecrated  to  their  service,  —  is  not  without 
his  solace  and  enjoyment  when,  to  the  eyes 
of  others,  he  seems  the  most  lonely  and 
miserable.  He  breathes  an  atmosphere 
which  the  multitude  know  not  of;  ?  a  serene 
heaven  which  they  cannot  discern  rests  over 
him,  glorious  in  its  purity  and  stillness.' " 

For  a  specimen  of  our  author's  vein  of 
pleasantry  take  the  following  bit  of  satire 
on  "The  Training":  "What's  now  in  the 
wind?  Sounds  of  distant  music  float  in  at 
my  window  on  this  still  October  air.  Hurry- 
ing drum-beat,  shrill  fife-tones,  wailing  bugle- 
notes,  and,  by  way  of  accompaniment, 
hurrahs  from  the  urchins  on  the  crowded 
sidewalks.  Here  come  the  citizen-soldiers, 
each  martial  foot  beating  up  the  mud  of 


296  PROSE   WRITINGS. 

yesterday's  storm  with  the  slow,  regular, 
up-and-down  movement  of  an  old-fashioned 
churn-dasher.  Keeping  time  with  the  feet 
below,  some  threescore  of  plumed  heads 
bob  solemnly  beneath  me.  Slant  sunshine 
glitters  on  polished  gun-barrels  and  tinselled 
uniform.  Gravely  and  soberly  they  pass  on, 
as  if  duly  impressed  with  a  sense  of  the  deep 
responsibility  of  their  position  as  self-con- 
stituted defenders  of  the  world's  last  hope,  — 
the  United  States  of  America,  and  possibly 
Texas.  They  look  out  with  honest,  citizen 
faces  under  their  leathern  vizors  (their  feroc- 
ity being  mostly  the  work  of  the  tailor  and 
tinker),  and,  I  doubt  not,  are  at  this  moment 
as  innocent  of  bloodthirstiness  as  yonder 
worthy  tiller  of  the  Tewksbury  Hills,  who 
sits  quietly  in  his  wagon  dispensing  apples 
and  turnips  without  so  much  as  giving  a 
glance  at  the  procession.  Probably  there  is 
not  one  of  them  who  would  hesitate  to  divide 
his  last  tobacco-quid  with  his  worst  enemy. 
Social,  kind-hearted,  psalm-singing,  sermon- 
hearing,  Sabbath-keeping  Christians;  and 
yet,  if  we  look  a"  the  fact  of  the  matter,  these 
very  men  have  been  out  the  whole  afternoon 
of  this  beautiful  day,  under  God's  holy  sun- 


JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER.        297 

shine,  as  busily  at  work  as  Satan  himself 
could  wish  in  learning  how  to  butcher  their 
fellow-creatures,  and  acquire  the  true  scien- 
tific method  of  impaling  a  forlorn  Mexican 
on  a  bayonet,  or  of  sinking  a  leaden  missile 
in  the  brain  of  some  unfortunate  Briton, 
urged  within  its  range  by  the  double  in- 
centive of  sixpence  per  day  in  his  pocket 
and  the  cat-o'-nine  tails  on  his  back!" 


PART  III. 

TWILIGHT  AND   EVENING   BELL. 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  30! 


CHAPTER   I. 

TWILIGHT    AND    EVENING    BELL. 

THE  passing  away  from  earth  of  John 
Greenleaf  Whittier  occurred  on  September 
7,  1892,  at  four-thirty  A.  M.,  at  Hampton 
Falls,  N.  H.,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  region  he 
has  immortalized  by  his  ballads.  The  hour 
was  just  as  the  reddening  east  was  mingling 
its  light  with  that  of  the  full  harvest  moon. 
Around  his  bedside  were  numerous  relatives 
and  friends.  He  fell  asleep  in  an  uncon- 
scious state,  after  an  illness  of  a  week.  Let 
us  now  go  back  and,  taking  up  the  thread 
of  the  narrative  where  it  was  dropped  on 
page  152,  run  over  the  incidents  that  have 
intervened  in  the  decade  since  1882  in  the 
life  of  this  pleasant  singer  —  this  plain 
Quaker  farmer,  who  drew  such  soul-thril- 
ling strains  from  his  home-made  rustic  flute 
as  to  concentrate  upon  himself  the  attention 
of  the  whole  world. 


302  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

In  1883  (January  7)  died,  in  Boston, 
Whittier's  brother,  Matthew  Franklin  Whit- 
tier,  whose  daughter  Elizabeth,  before  her 
marriage  to  Samuel  T.  Pickard,  was  house- 
keeper for  a  number  of  years  for  her  uncle, 
the  poet,  at  Amesbury.  "  Frank,"  as  his 
associates  called  him,  obtained,  it  is  said,  his 
position  in  the  Boston  Custom  House  through 
the  influence  of  his  brother.  Says  a  friend 
(Mr.  Charles  O.  Stickney):  — 

"  Frank  was  not  a  poet,  and  being  of  a 
practical  turn  of  mind,  had  the  good  sense 
not  to  attempt  the  impossible ;  but  he  was  a 
man  of  intellect,  an  omnivorous  reader,  was 
well  posted,  and,  though  inclined  to  seclu- 
sion and  taciturnity,  was  nevertheless  genial 
and  companionable ;  his  conversation  spiced 
with  his  quiet,  quaint  humor,  which  bubbled 
up  in  some  happy  mot,  neat  fun,  or  well- 
turned  bit  of  satire  which  raised  a  laugh, 
but  left  no  sting  behind."  His  quaint, 
humorous  dialect  articles,  over  the  signature 
"  Ethan  Spike,"  are  said  to  have  given 
Nasby  and  Artemus  Ward  their  cue.  They 
were  chiefly  contributed  to  the  Portland 
Transcript,  the  Boston  Carpet  Bag,  and 
New  York  Vanity  Fair,  They  all  pur- 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  303 

ported  to  emanate  from  "Hornby,"  a  "smart 
town  "  in  Maine  —  "a  veritable  down-east 
wonderland,  whose  wide-awake  citizens  were 
up  to  the  times  and  ready  to  settle  any  great 
question  of  the  day  at  '  a  special  town 
meetinY  "  Mr.  Spike  was  as  intense  in  his 
anti-slavery  views  as  his  brother  Greenleaf. 
Specimens  of  his  work  may  be  found  in  the 
Portland  Transcript,  January  10,  1846,  the 
Carpet  Bag,  October  14,  1850,  and  Novem- 
ber, 1851. 

In  1884  Whittier's  seventy-seventh  birth- 
day was  observed  at  Oak  Knoll,  when  the 
genial  old  bachelor  received  with  courtesy 
and  hospitality  all  who  called.  Gifts  of 
flowers  poured  in  to  serve  as  foil  to  the  two 
huge  birthday  cakes  from  relatives. 

An  editorial  writer  in  one  of  Boston's 
chief  dailies  thus  describes  a  visit  to  Mr. 
Whittier,  made  in  1884:  — 

"  Mr.  Whittier  met  us  at  the  door  of  the 
pleasant  house  at  Oak  Knoll.  He  came 
out  on  the  piazza,  and  shook  us  each  by  the 
hand,  and  said,  *  I  am  glad  to  see  thee.'  He 
concerned  himself  about  our  rubbers  and 
waterproofs  in  the  hall-way,  and  said  that 
we  were  kind  to  come.  I  had  taken  a  great 


304  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITT2ER. 

fit  of  shyness  on  seeing  him,  and  was  sur- 
prised to  hear  my  friend  speaking  to  him  in 
the  same  quiet  tone  that  she  had  used  when 
alone  with  me.  I  listened,  and  reveled  in 
silence  as  the  old  poet  and  the  young  artist 
spoke  together.  He  led  us  into  the  parlor, 
and  they  talked  of  a  landscape  on  the  wall, 
of  pictures,  and  of  a  portrait. 

"  Presently  he  said:  *  It  is  a  little  cold  here. 
Shall  we  go  into  my  room  ? '  He  led  the 
way  to  the  bright  library  where  most  of  his 
days  are  now  spent.  Mr.  Whittier  happened 
to  glance  from  the  window  as  we  stood  for  a 
moment  speaking  with  him  :  he  saw  our  cab 
waiting  for  us  on  the  drive.  The  rain  had 
begun  again.  Then  a  wonderful  thing  befell. 

"  He  forbade  us  to  go  away  within  the 
quarter  hour;  he  forbade  us  to  go  for  three 
hours.  He  went  out  and  sent  the  cabman 
away,  then  he  took  us  into  the  library.  We 
sat  down  in  front  of  the  cheery  open  fire, 
and  Mr.  Whittier  talked  with  us.  He  spoke 
of  the  claims  of  young  people  on  life,  it  was 
different  from  any  talk  I  had  heard  ;  in  the 
face  of  my  poets,  I  used  to  think  that  all 
good  people  believed  that  life  is  our  cred- 
itor and  hard  taskmaster." 


TWILIGHT  AND   EVENING  BELL. 


305 


On  October  24,  1884,  a  portrait  of  Whit- 
tier  was  presented  by  Charles  F.  Coffin,  of 
Lynn,  Mass.,  a  devoted  friend  and  admirer 
of  his,  to  the  Friends'  School  of  Providence, 
R.  I.  It  was  painted  by  Edgar  Parker,  of 
Boston,  and  represents  Whittier  sitting  in  an 
arm-chair  in  an  attitude  of  peaceful  thought. 

It  is  huns:  in  Alumni  Hall,  between  busts 

O 

of  Elizabeth  Fry  and  John  Bright,  and  is 
considered  to  be  a  worthy  memorial  of  the 
poet.  Letters  on  this  occasion  were  read 
from  James  Russell  Lowell,  Dr.  Holmes, 
E.  P.  Whipple,  John  Bright,  George  William 
Curtis,  Boyle  O'Reilly,  Matthew  Arnold, 
and  others.  From  Mr.  Whipple's  letter  the 
following  is  an  extract:  — 

"  I  have  had  the  privilege  of  knowing  him 
intimately  for  many  years,  and  of  doing  all  I 
could  through  the  press  to  point  out  his  ex- 
ceptional and  original  merits  as  a  writer. 
My  admiration  of  his  genius  and  character 
has  increased  with  every  new  volume  he  has 
published  and  every  new  manifestation  of 
that  essential  gentleness  which  lies  at  the 
root  of  his  nature,  even  when  some  of  his 
poems  suggest  the  warrior  rather  than  the 
Quaker.  One  thing  is  certain  :  that  the 

20 


306  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

reader  feels  that  the  writer  possesses  that 
peculiar  attribute  of  humanity  which  we  in- 
stinctively call  by  the  high  name  of  soul  ; 
and,  whether  he  storms  into  the  souls  of 
others  or  glides  into  them,  his  hot  invectives 
equally  with  his  soft  persuasions  mark  him 
as  a  man ;  a  man,  too,  of  might ;  a  man  whose 
force  is  blended  with  his  insight,  and  who 
can  win  or  woo  his  way  into  hostile  or  recipi- 
ent minds  by  innate  strength  or  delicacy  of 
nature." 

In  1885  the  poet's  birthday  was  again 
quietly  celebrated  at  Oak  Knoll,  and  in  the 
afternoon  Mr.  Whittier's  portrait  was  un- 
veiled before  a  large  audience  in  the  Town 
Hall  of  Haverhill. 

In  September,  1885,  occurred  a  most  in- 
teresting festival  —  the  reunion  of  the  grad- 
uates of  the  old  Haverhill  Academy,  for 
whom  the  poet  cherished  to  the  end  of  his 
life  an  earnest  and  outspoken  affection.  It 
was  here  that  Whittier  got  all  the  scholastic 
education  he  ever  had  outside  of  the  district 
school ;  the  reunion  was  thoroughly  enjoyed 
therefore  by  him,  although  it  was  in  his 
honor.  For  his  health  was  pretty  good,  and 
he  was  in  fine  spirits.  An  interesting  letter 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL. 


307 


was  received  from  the  aged  Miss  Arethusa 
Hall,  a  preceptress  in  the  Academy  when 
Whittier  attended  it.  Among  others,  Dr. 
Holmes  wrote:  "The  class  of  1829  [Har- 
vard] has  a  bright  record ;  but  how  much 
brighter  it  would  have  been  if  we  could  have 
read  upon  the  triennial  and  quinquennial 
catalogues:  Johannes  Greenleaf  Whittier, 
A.  B.,  A.  M.,  LL.  D.,  etc!  But  what,  after 
all,  can  all  the  degrees  of  all  the  colleges  do 
for  him  whose  soul  has  been  kindled  by  that 
'ae  spark  of  Nature's  fire,'  which  Burns 
caught  from  her  torch  on  the  banks  of  Ayr, 
and  Whittier  among  the  mists  that  rise  from 
the  Merrimack  ? " 

Mr.  Whittier  presented  photographs  of 
himself  with  his  autograph  to.  his  school- 
mates, promised  to  think  over  the  sitting  for 
an  oil  portrait,  and  entered  with  zest  into  any 
bit  of  mirthfulness  that  sparkled  out  during 
the  evening,  although,  as  will  be  seen  from 
the  following  description  of  a  representative 
of  the  Boston  Advertiser,  he  could  scarcely 
understand  the  situation  :  — 

"  In  the  company  was  one  man  who  seemed 
neither  to  accept  nor  to  comprehend  the  situ- 
ation. That  man  was  John  G.  Whittier. 


308  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

His  face  and  demeanor  that  day  would  have 
afforded  study  for  a  psychologist.  That  it 
was  fifty-seven  years  since  he  entered  Haver- 
hill  Academy  he  remembered  with  a  cer- 
tain sweet  melancholy.  That  everybody  was 
vying  with  everybody  else  in  making  love  to 
him  he  could  not  help  observing.  But  what 
it  was  all  about,  and  why  people  should  per- 
sist in  talking  of  him  when  he  wanted  other, 
more  congenial  topics  to  be  uppermost  — 
these  questions  evidently  puzzled  him.  A 
countenance  on  which  was  a  look  of  shyness, 
of  surprise,  of  perplexity;  withal,  a  counte- 
nance irradiated  by  reciprocal  affection  and 
pleasure  in  seeing  others  pleased  —  if  any 
one  of  the  present  artists  could  have  caught 
and  delineated  those  features,  the  painter 
would  have  been  destined  to  share  the  im- 
mortality of  the  poet.  On  such  a  subject 
the  temptation  to  indulge  in  reminiscence  is 
strong.  But  space  will  permit  me  to  men- 
tion only  two  or  three  characteristic  inci- 
dents. A  gifted  vocalist  had  just  sung  a 
composition  prepared  for  that  day ;  and  Mr. 
Whittier,  turning  to  her,  said,  '  Friend,  I 
wish  that  I  could  write  a  song  for  thee  to 
sing.'  An  elocutionist  of  note  read  aloud 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  309 

one  of  the  author's  poems.  He  listened 
eagerly,  as  if  it  was  wholly  new  to  him  ;  and 
a  little  mist  gathered  in  those  deep,  dreamy 
eyes  at  the  lines  beginning, 

'  I  mourn  no  more  my  vanished  years,' 

but  there  was  an  answering  gleam  at  the 
words, 

'  The  windows  of  my  soul  I  throw 
Wide  open  to  the  sun." 

"  Two  circumstances  made  that  one  of  the 
few  red-letter  days  in  the  memory  of  the 
present  writer.  I  had  known  in  Kansas  a 
lady  who  belonged  to  that  band  of  Haverhill 
Academy  pupils  whose  boast  and  joy  it  was 
to  have  studied  and  played  with  the  Quaker 
poet.  On  mentioning  this  lady's  name,  I 
found  myself  instantly  accepted  as  her  proxy. 
For  some  minutes  Mr.  Whittier  seemed  to 
have  no  other  interest  than  to  learn  all  pos- 
sible particulars  of  her  and  send  to  her  all 
possible  expressions  of  regard. 

"  The  other  circumstance  was  the  result  of 
my  connectiorrwith  the  Advertiser.  Taking 
me  into  one  corner  of  the  room,  he  asked 


3IO  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

me  to  sit  beside  him  on  the  sofa.  Then, 
drawing  from  his  pocket  the  manuscript  of 
the  poem  which  he  had  written  for  that 
occasion  and  on  portions  of  which  the  ink 
was  not  yet  dry,  the  author,  in  a  manner 
irresistibly  winning,  seemed  to  take  his 
humble  brother  of  the  pen-craft  into  confi- 
dence, explaining  the  motive  for  various  lines 
and  passing  on  to  speak  of  those  boyhood 
days  which  the  poem  and  the  occasion 
recalled." 

December  17  again  came  round  in  1886, 
and  found  Whittier  receiving  friends,  pres- 
ents, and  congratulatory  telegrams  at  Oak 
Knoll.  Wendell  Phillips,  for  example,  sent 
him  a  handsome  cane,  and  some  one  else 
sent  a  great  frosted  cake  and  a  basket  that 
strained  its  sides  to  hold  the  gift  of  fruit 
it  contained. 

In  December,  1887,  it  occurred  to  a  young 
lady  journalist  on  the  staff  of  the  Boston 
Advertiser  (Miss  Minna  C.  Smith)  that  it 
would  be  a  good  idea  to  have  a  "  Whittier 
number  "  of  that  journal.  The  thought  was 
a  fertile  one  and  was  put  into  execution  in 
great  haste,  but  with  eminent  success. 
Poems  were  contributed  by  Walt  Whitman, 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  311 

Dr.  Holmes,  James  Jeffrey  Roche,  Hezekiah 
Butterworth,  Herbert  D.  Ward,  Minot  J. 
Savage,  Margaret  Sidney  (Mrs.  D.  Lothrop), 
Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps,  and  others,  and 
there  was  a  great  array  of  letters  from  other 
writers  and  eminent  persons.  Edward 
Everett  Hale  told  the  story  of  Whittier's 
Kansas  "  Emigrants'  Song,"  how  it  was  sung 
en  route  and  in  the  West  by  brave  pioneers 
of  New  England.  James  Parton,  of  New- 
buryport,  Whittier's  Amesbury  neighbor, 
wrote  that  Whittier  was  carrying  his  burthen 
of  eighty  years  "  with  considerable  ease  and 
constant  cheerfulness."  He  continued:  — 

"  I  am  sometimes  asked,  '  Is  the  poet 
Whittier  really  a  Quaker  or  only  one  by 
inheritance  ? '  He  is  really  a  Quaker.  He 
wears,  it  is  true,  a  silk  hat  of  the  kind  famil- 
iarly called  the  stove-pipe,  which  gleams  in 
the  brilliant  sun  of  winter,  and  seems  to  in- 
dicate at  once  the  man  of  Boston  and  the 
man  of  the  world.  But  it  is  not  the  broad- 
brimmed  hat  that  makes  the  Quaker.  The 
poet  does  actually  keep  a  Quaker  coat  for 
Sundays  and  other  dress  occasions,  which 
coat  was  made  by  a  firm  of  Orthodox  Friends 
in  Philadelphia,  the  metropolitan  city  of  the 


312  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

gentle  sect.  He  also  uses  the  thee  and  thou 
in  conversation,  although  without  attaching 
the  least  importance  to  these  trifles.  But 
he  is  also  a  Friend  from  heartfelt  conviction. 
A  few  miles  from  his  home  is  one  of  the 
smallest  meeting-houses  in  New  England, 
standing  alone  in  a  land  of  farms  and  fields. 
It  is  painted  white,  and  looks  a  little  like 
a  small  schoolhouse.  This  edifice  will  seat 
perhaps  forty  persons,  but  the  usual  congre- 
gation numbers  about  fourteen,  who  on  winter 
Sundays  dwindle  often  to  seven  and  some- 
times to  three.  This  is  the  meeting-house 
which  the  poet  Whittier  attends  whenever  he 
is  at  home,  unless  prevented  by  the  weather. 

"  What  an  extraordinary  thing  is  this ! 
The  poet  who  has  most  deeply  felt  and  most 
beautifully  expressed  the  sentiment  and  soul 
of  New  England  is  a  member  of  the  sect  to 
which  New  England  was  so  intolerant  and 
so  cruel !  When  the  essential  New  England 
has  ceased  to  exist,  it  will  live  again,  and 
live  long,  in  Whittier's  poems  ;  and  he  a 
Quaker !  Was  there  ever  before  a  revenge 
so  complete  and  so  sublime  ?  " 

Mr.  Charles  M.  Thompson  sent  for  this 
octogenarian  birthday  a  fine  poetical  stanza: — 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  313 

"  A  thousand  stars  swim  on  through  time. 

Unknown  and  unregarded  in  the  skies. 
But  one,  kings  followed  ;  one,  thy  rhyme, 

Led  on  a  land  of  kings  in  liberty's  emprise  !  " 

Mr.  James  H.  Carleton  knew  Whittier  in 
connection  with  a  circle  of  intellectual  and 
social  people  that  centred  around  the  family 
of  Judge  Pitman  in  the  years  just  preceding 
the  rise  of  the  abolition  movement.  "  The 
Pitmans  were  neighbors  of  mine,"  said  Mr. 
Carleton,  "  and  I  (I  hardly  know  why)  was 
admitted  to  the  meetings  of  the  people  who 
gathered  there.  They  were  the  leaders  in 
everything  that  was  progressive.  They  have 
since  become  widely  scattered. 

"  I  remember  Mr.  Whittier  as  a  leader  of 
these  leaders.  These  people  formed  to  a 
large  extent  his  social  world  at  that  time. 
It  was  the  one  place  at  which  Mr.  Whittier 
threw  off  his  natural  reserve  and  took  his 
proper  place.  He  was  a  good  conversation- 
alist on  occasion,  and  when  he  spoke  he 
was  worth  listening  to.  I  remember  him  as 
intensely  interested  in  whatever  subject  occu- 
pied the  attention  of  the  circle.  He  was  never 
the  first  to  begin  a  discussion,  but  rather 
bided  his  time  for  an  especial  opportunity." 


3  14  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

Mr.  George  C.  How  wrote  of  Mr.  Whittier's 
friendliness,  his  cordiality,  and  his  unassum- 
ing manner:  "  In  the  few  delightful  days  I 
spent  in  his  company  in  the  White  Mountain 
region,  I  saw  no  signs  of  formality  or  reserve. 
He  told  me,  under  the  trees,  many  stones  of 
his  life  and  of  his  earliest  successes.  He 
impresses  you  strongly  as  a  true  and  gener- 
ous friend  to  everything  and  every  man  he 
believes  good  and  honest.  He  does  not  like 
to  be  lionized,  and  refused  to  be  introduced 
to  a  man  whose  only  claim  to  his  friendship 
was  that  he  had  read  all  his  works.  When, 
however,  Mr.  Whittier  learned  that  this 
same  man  was  an  ardent  admirer  of  the 
poet  Hayne,  a  chord  of  sympathy  was  struck 
that  made  them  firm  friends  during  this 
stranger's  stay." 

At  Oak  Knoll  the  winter  day  was  clear 
and  sunshiny,  if  cold,  and  warm  hearts 
within  laughed  the  season  to  scorn.  The 
ladies  of  Boston,  at  the  suggestion  of  Mrs. 
D.  Lothrop,  sent  up  a  most  unique  and  ex- 
quisite gift ;  eighty  beautiful  roses  edged  a 
large  basket  fringed  with  fern-sprays,  that 
held  an  open  book  of  white  roses,  across 
whose  face  lay  a  pen  of  violets,  and  on  the 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL. 


315 


wide  satin  book-mark  was  inscribed  the  clos- 
ing stanza  of  "  My  Triumph."  The  Essex 
Club  of  Boston  presented  a  large  album  ; 
fruit  and  flowers  flanked  a  mighty  birthday 
cake  in  the  dining-room.  Mr.  Charles  F. 
Coffin,  of  Lynn,  sent  a  large  overflowing 
basket  of  fruit,  arranged  under  his  personal 
supervision,  "  every  fruit  in  its  season," 
of  exquisite  colors  and  shapes,  to  express 
his  affection  for  his  life-long  friend,  the 
poet. 

The  new  town  of  Whittier,  in  California, 
sent  an  advance  copy  of  the  first  issue  of 
the  town's  newspaper ;  the  Governor  of 
the  Commonwealth,  as  the  winter  afternoon 
quickly  declined,  cut  and  distributed  to  the 
guests  slices  of  the  birthday  cake,  while  all 
through  the  day  Whittier  passed  to  and  fro 
from  room  to  room,  conversing  with  young 
and  old,  and  hospitable  to  all. 

Whittier  himself  is  reported  as  saying  on 
his  eightieth  birthday :  "  When  a  man  is 
eighty  years  old,  it  is  time  to  give  up  active 
mental  work.  Oh  !  I  am  able  to  go  about 
these  grounds  pretty  well.  I  have  never 
attempted  to  imitate  Gladstone  and  chop 
down  trees,  but  I  like  to  split  wood." 


3l6  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

This  was  James  Russell  Lowell's  verse 
for  Mr.  Whittier  on  his  eightieth  birthday  :  — 

"  How  fair  a  pearl  chain,  eighty  strong, 

Lustrous  and  hallowed  every  one 
With  saintly  thoughts  and  sacred  song, 

As  'twere  the  rosary  of  a  nun  !  " 

The  excitement  and  nervous  exhaustion 
attendant  upon  these  birthday  occasions,  it 
always  took  Mr.  Whittier  three  or  four  weeks 
fully  to  recover  from.  Hence  in  1889  (and 
partly  on  account  of  the  recent  death  of  a  be- 
loved cousin),  the  poet  announced,  through 
the  press,  that  he  should  have  to  ask  his 
friends  to  spare  him  any  public  reception. 
However,  December  17  was  observed  as 
"Whittier  Day"  very  generally  throughout 
the  country,  as  it  had  been  in  1887,  in 
accordance  with  the  custom  that  has  grown 
up  of  celebrating  the  birthdays  of  eminent 
men  in  the  schools,  and  introducing  into 
their  courses  of  supplementary  reading  se- 
lected portions  of  the  writings  of  each. 
Among  the  gifts  received  at  Oak  Knoll  was 
a  painting  of  a  golden  vase  by  Mr.  Herman 
Marcus,  of  New  York  City,  to  whom  the 
poet  had  appeared  in  a  dream,  bearing  in  his 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL. 


3T7 


hand  an  elegant  portfolio  of  red  morocco, 
containing  a  picture  of  a  vase  of  Grecian 
design,  richly  ornamented,  and  inscribed 
with  the  legend,  "  May  in  the  smallest  part 
thy  sorrows  lie  concealed  and  all  the  rest  be 
filled  with  joy  overflowing."  The  portfolio 
and  the  picture  on  its  page  are  a  close  reali- 
zation of  what  the  donor  saw  in  his  dream. 

Speaking  of  visitors,  Col.  Higginson  tells 
two  incidents  in  point.  He  says  two  nice 
little  boys  called  one  day  on  Whittier,  saying 
that  they  had  recently  called  on  Longfellow, 
and,  as  he  had  died  soon  after,  they  thought 
it  best  to  call  at  once  on  Mr.  Whittier.  One 
of  the  poet's  housekeepers  once  asked  him 
in  severe  tones  whether  all  "  these  people  " 
came  on  business  or  whether  they  were 
relatives.  When  told  that  neither  was  the 
case,  she  said  she  did  not  see  what  they 
came  for  then.  "  Neither  did  I,"  said 
Whittier,  with  laughing  eye. 

In  December,  1890,  Mr.  Whittier,  who 
had  gone  down  to  Amesbury  to  vote,  had 
been  taken  ill  there,  and  hardly  expected  to 
be  able  to  get  back  to  Oak  Knoll  by  the 
seventeenth.  He  did  arrive,  however,  on  a 
sunny  day.  Many  of  his  friends  spared  him 


318  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHfTTIER. 

visits,  merely  leaving  their  cards  or  sending 
remembrances.  His  mail  was  very  large,  as 
usual  on  this  day. 

In  the  summer  of  1891  Mr.  Whittier's 
health  was  so  feeble  that  he  was  obliged  to 
abandon  his  daily  walks,  except  about  the 
grounds  at  Oak  Knoll.  Driving  was  too 
fatiguing  for  him,  and  his  hearing  had  grown 
so  bad  that  he  could  converse  only  with 
difficulty. 

In  Whittier's  poem,"  The  Red  River  Voy- 
ageur,"  there  is  a  beautiful  allusion  to  the 
"  bells  of  the  Roman  mission,"  now  the 
Archepiscopate  of  St.  Boniface.  Archbishop 
Tache  was  reminded  by  Lieut.-Gov.  Schultz 
that  December  17, 1891,  was  the  eighty-fourth 
birthday  of  the  poet,  the  suggestion  being 
made  that  the  anniversary  should  be  greeted 
by  a  joy-peal  from  the  tower  of  the  Cathedral 
of  St.  Boniface,  in  Winnipeg,  Manitoba.  His 
Grace  cordially  concurred,  and  the  graceful 
tribute  was  rendered  at  midnight  with  the  last 
stroke  of  the  clock  ushering  the  natal  day. 
Mr.  Whittier,  having  been  informed  of  the 
incident  by  United  States  Consul  Taylor, 
wrote  to  the  Archbishop :  "  I  have  reached  an 
age  when  literary  success  and  manifestations 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL. 


319 


of  popular  favor  have  ceased  to  satisfy  one 
upon  whom  the  solemnity  of  life's  sunset  is 
resting;  but  such  a  delicate  and  beautiful  trib- 
ute has  deeply  moved  me.  I  shall  never  for- 
get it.  I  shall  hear  the  bells  of  St.  Boniface 
sounding  across  the  continent,  and  awakening 
a  feeling  of  gratitude  for  thy  generous  act." 
Our  poet's  eighty-fourth  birthday  (1891), 
and  alas  !  his  last  on  earth,  was  delightfully 
observed  at  the  home  of  the  Cartlands,  his 
cousins,  in  Newburyport,  with  whom  he  was 
spending  the  winter.  Mr.  Joseph  Cartland 
is  himself  a  Quaker,  and  his  white  hair 
and  genial  cheery  temperament  are  quite  of 
the  old  regime.  He  and  his  wife  were  teach- 
ers in  the  Friends'  School  at  Providence, 
R.  I.  Their  fine  old  mansion  on  High 
Street  is  the  identical  one  built  and  lived  in 
by  Judge  Livermore,  father  of  the  shrewish 
saint  and  devotee  of  "  Snow-Bound."  It 
may  be  stated,  too,  that  it  was  to  succeed 
one  of  the  Cartlands  in  the  editorial  chair 
of  the  Pennsylvania  Freeman  that  Whittier 
went  to  Philadelphia  in  1838.  In  this  house 
is  kept  the  old  maple-wood  desk,  made  by 
Joseph  Whittier,  grandfather  of  the  poet, 
who,  by  the  way,  "  wrote  on  it  his  first  poem." 


32O  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

The  desk  is  about  one  hundred  and  eighty 
years  old  now.  On  the  back  are  carved  the 
initials  "  J.  W.,  1786,"  in  large  letters.  The 
wood  has  been  smoothed  down  a  little  and  a 
coat  of  shellac  applied.  On  the  back  of  the 
drawers  are  memoranda  in  chalk  and  pencil 
made  by  Greenleaf's  father.  On  December 
17,  1891,  the  old  piece  of  furniture  was  cov- 
ered with  hundreds  of  congratulatory  letters 
which  would  have  made  the  old  farmer 
Quaker,  its  builder,  rub  his  eyes  in  astonish- 
ment, could  he  have  seen  them. 

"  As  he  walks  slowly  down  the  broad 
stairs  of  the  Cartland's  at  Newburyport," 
says  one  who  saw  him  on  his  birthday, 
"  there  is  much  to  suggest  his  years,  it  is 
true,  yet  no  signs  of  unusual  feebleness. 
He  is  erect  for  a  man  of  eighty-four;  his 
early  litheness  has  not  degeneiated  into  the 
hopeless  leanness  of  an  ill-nourished  and  un- 
cared-for old  age  ;  his  step  does  not  drag 
after  his  body  as  if  unwilling  to  carry  the 
burden  longer;  his  head  is  not  lowered, 
awaiting  the  smite  of  Time." 

Another  thus  describes  Whittier  in  1891  : 
"  In  personal  appearance  he  is  remarkable. 
Tall,  and  as  straight  as  one  of  the  young 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  32! 

pines  in  his  favorite  grove,  it  seems  impos- 
sible that  he  is  at  the  end  of  fourscore  years. 
The  crown  of  his  head  is  bald,  and  his  hair 
is  glossy  silver  ;  but  his  great  black  eyes  are 
as  clear,  bright  and  piercing  as  if  he  were  in 
the  prime  of  life.  He  walks  with  the  delib- 
eration and  dignity  of  age,  but  without  a 
suggestion  of  physical  feebleness,  and  while 
he  remains  standing  his  head  is  as  finely 
poised  as  a  soldier's.  The  straightness  of 
his  figure  is  the  more  noticeable  on  account 
of  his  Quaker  dress,  the  coat  of  which  fits 
him  as  neatly  and  closely  as  if  it  were  the 
conventional  'swallow-tail.'  When  seated 
and  listening,  his  head  drops  slightly  forward 
and  aside  —  a  pose  which  seems  peculiar  to 
poetic  natures  the  world  over.  He  is  a  most 
appreciative  reader  of  other  men's  books  and 
poems,  and  talks  admirably  of  all  good  writ- 
ings except  his  own,  of  which  he  can  scarcely 
be  persuaded  to  speak,  even  to  his  dearest 
intimates." 

Mr.  S.  T.  Pickard,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cart 
land  received  the  guests  in  the  wide  hall  of 
the  old-fashioned  hospitable  Quaker  home; 
and  the  poet  himself  wandered  here  and 

there    about  the    room,  so  said  the  Boston 
21 


3'22  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

Advertiser,  "  greeting  every  guest  informally 
and  pleasantly,  from  the  old  and  tried  com- 
rades of  anti-slavery's  earliest  days  to  the 
little  girl  in  cream-white  dress  and  wide  hat, 
his  little  friend  Margaret  Lothrop,  who  had 
to  stand  on  tip-toe  to  greet  the  bowed  head 
with  her  childish  kiss  ;  and  whose  small  hand 
he  held  closely  as  he  kept  her  by  his  side." 

A  pleasant  note  was  received  from  Phillips 
Brooks : — 

"DEAR  MR.  WHITTIER: 

"  I  have  no  right  save  that  which  love  and 
gratitude  and  reverence  may  give,  to  say  how 
devoutly  I  thank  God  that  you  have  lived, 
that  you  are  living,  and  that  you  will  always 
live.  May  his  peace  be  with  you  more  and 
more. 

"  Affectionately  your  friend, 

"  PHILLIPS  BROOKS." 

The  first  guests  to  arrive  were  a  deputation 
of  fifty  from  Haverhill,  members  of  the 
Whittier  Club  of  that  town.  Whittier  made 
them  a  little  speech,  saying  it  was  evident 
that  sometimes  a  prophet  was  honored  in 
his  own  country. 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  323 

The  house  was  filled  with  cut  flowers — 
in  the  window-seats,  on  the  tables,  in  the 
poet's  bedroom,  up-stairs  —  all  gifts  from 
friends.  The  Whittier  Club  of  Haverhill 
brought  eighty-four  roses.  There  was  a 
basket  of  English  violets  from  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
D.  Lothrop.  Mr.  C.  F.  Coffin,  of  Lynn,  sent, 
as  usual,  his  generous  basket  of  fruit.  From 
Mr.  E.  C.  Stedman  came  a  painting  "  High 
Tide,  Hampton  Meadows,"  by  Carroll  D. 
Brown.  And  some  kindly  old  soul  sent  a 
half-dozen  pairs  of  socks  —  the  spirit  that 
prompted  the  gift  as  deeply  appreciated  as 
that  of  others.  Other  gifts  were :  an  oil 
painting  of  a  scene  at  York  Harbor,  painted 
by  J.  L.  Smith,  of  Boston,  the  frame  carved 
by  A.  G.  Smith ;  a  ruler  of  various  inlaid 
woods  from  California,  the  gift  of  pupils  of 
the  workshop  at  West  Point,  Calaveras 
County,  who  wrote  a  letter,  saying  that  they 
would  devote  the  birthday  to  reading  and 
speaking  selections  from  his  works ;  a  paper- 
cutter  made  from  the  wood  of  Fort  Loudon, 
of  Winchester,  Penn.,  and  sent  by  the  ladies 
of  that  place ;  a  hand-painted  tray  from  artist 
Florence  Cammett  of  Amesbury;  a  late 
photograph  of  Dr.  Holmes,  "  with  his  hat  in 


324  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

his  hand,  and'his  most  man-of-the-vvorld  air  ;  " 
a  souvenir  spoon  of  Independence  Hall  from 
W.  H.  and  S.  B.  Swazey,  of  Newburyport ;  a 
picture  of  the  old  Mission  at  Santa  Barbara, 
done  on  native  olive-wood,  from  Professor 
John  Murray,  of  California ;  a  handsome 
footstool  from  Elizabeth  Cavazza,  of  Port- 
land, Me. ;  photogravures  of  scenes  about 
the  Whittier  homestead  in  Haverhill ;  a 
transparency  (  "  Snow-Bound  ")  from  Austin 
P.  Nichols;  eighty-four  roses  from  the  girls 
of  Lasell  Seminary  near  Boston,  and  a 
wreath  of  evergreens  from  Mrs.  Annie 
Fields. 

Among  the  messages  was  one  from  a  little 
Indian  maiden  whom  Whittier  had  be- 
friended :  "  Your  young  Mohawk  friend  asks 
for  you  to-day  the  Great  Spirit's  blessing"  — 
signed,  E.  Pauline  Johnson;  a  letter  came 
from  Abby  Hutchinson,  of  the  Hutchinson 
singers. 

Among  those  present  were,  Mrs.  Alice 
Freeman  Palmer,  Sarah  Orne  Jewett,  "  Mar- 
garet Sidney,"  Mrs.  James  T.  Fields,  Mrs. 
William  Claflin,  Harriet  McEwen  Kimball, 
T.  E.  Burnham,  Mayor  of  Haverhill,  and 
others. 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  325 

Among  the  company,  conspicuous  by 
those  natural  gifts  that  make  one  a  centre 
for  intellectual  and  genial  comradeship,  was 
Mr.  D.  Lothrop  —  the  eminent  publisher  — 
(since  passed  away,  mourned  by  all)  who 
probably  has  done  more  than  any  other  man 
of  present  times  to  create  a  new  literature 
for  children  and  young  people,  all  achieved 
when  it  cost  to  do  it,  and  that  consumed 
years  of  patient,  persistent  struggling,  till  his 
splendid  success  was  won. 

Mr.  Whittier  writes  to  his  widow,  "  Thy 
husband  and  Mr.  Coffin  "  (the  old-time  friend 
referred  to),  "  were  the  life  of  my  birthday 
reception,  and  now  both  are  gone  before  me." 
(Mr.  Coffin  died  the  week  after  the  birthday.) 

Again,  to  quote  one  of  the  many  extracts 
of  Mr.  Whittier's  letters  concerning  Mr. 
Lothrop:  "Let  me  sit  in  the  circle  of  thy 
mourning,  for  I  too  have  lost  in  him  a  friend." 

There  was  much  to  draw  the  two  men  to- 
gether; both  sprang  from  New  England  an- 
cestry, sturdy  as  the  granite  hills  of  their  native 
State  ;  each  possessed  the  same  indomitable 
will,  where  a  question  of  right  was  involved, 
and  the  same  breadth  of  charity  for  all,  of 
whatsoever  creed  or  divergence  of  opinion. 


326  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

Mr.  Whittier  partook  of  but  little  food  in 
the  dining-room,  nibbling  a  bit  here  and 
there,  and  refusing  firmly  all  offers  of  tea  or 
coffee.  His  eyes,  every  one  noticed,  flamed 
with  old-time  lustre,  whenever  he  was  in- 
terested. 

Letters  of  congratulation  were  received 
from  Robert  C.  Winthrop,  Celia  Thaxter, 
Julia  Ward  Howe,  Harriet  Prescott  Spofford, 
Andrew  P.  Peabody,  Rose  Terry  Cooke 
(who  has  since  died),  George  W.  Cable,  T. 
W.  Higginson,  Charles  Eliot  Norton,  and 
others. 

Donald  G.  Mitchell  wrote  that  above  Whit- 
tier's  literary  art  he  admired  the  broad  and 
cheery  humanities  of  the  man. 

For  the  eighty-fourth  birthday  the  Boston 
Advertiser  printed  a  superb  illustrated  Whit- 
tier  number,  as  did  also  the  Boston  Journal. 
For  the  latter  Dr.  Holmes  contributed  the 
following  letter: 

MY  DEAR  WHITTIER  :  —  I  congratulate  you  on  having 
climbed  another  glacier  and  crossed  another  crevasse  in  your 
ascent  of  the  white  summit  which  already  begins  to  see  the 
morning  twilight  of  the  coming  century.  A  life  so  well  filled 
as  yours  has  been  cannot  be  too  long  for  your  fellowmen 
and  women.  In  their  affections  you  are  secure,  whether  you 
are  with  them  here  or  near  them  in  some  higher  life  than 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  327 

theirs.  I  hope  your  years  have  not  become  a  burden,  so  that 
you  are  tired  of  living.  At  our  age  we  must  live  chiefly  in 
the  past.  Happy  is  he  who  has  a  past  like  yours  to  look 
back  upon. 

It  is  one  of  the  felicitous  incidents  —  I  will  not  say  acci- 
dents —  of  my  life  that  the  lapse  of  time  has  brought  us  very 
near  together,  so  that  I  frequently  find  myself  honored  by 
seeing  my  name  mentioned  in  near  connection  with  your  own. 
We  are  lonely,  very  lonely,  in  these  last  years.  The  image 
which  I  have  used  before  this  in  writing  to  you  recurs  once 
more  to  my  thought.  We  were  on  deck  together  as  we  be- 
gan the  voyage  of  life  two  generations  ago.  A  whole  gener- 
ation passed,  and  the  succeeding  one  found  us  in  the  cabin, 
with  a  goodly  company  of  coevals.  Then  the  craft  which 
held  us  began  going  to  pieces,  until  a  few  of  us  were  left  on 
the  raft  pieced  together  of  its  fragments.  And  now  the  raft 
has  at  last  parted,  and  you  and  1  are  left  clinging  to  the  soli- 
tary spar,  which  is  all  that  still  remains  afloat  of  the  sunken 
vessel. 

I  have  just  been  looking  over  the  headstones  in  Mr. 
Griswold's  cemetery,  entitled  "The  Poets  and  Poetry  of 
America."  In  that  venerable  receptacle,  just  completing  its 
half-century  of  existence  —  for  the  date  of  the  edition  before 
me  is  1842  —  I  find  the  names  of  John  Greenleaf  Whittier 
and  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  next  each  other,  in  their  due 
order,  as  they  should  be.  All  around  are  the  names  of  the 
dead  —  too  often  of  forgotten  dead.  Three  which  I  see  there 
are  still  among  those  of  the  living.  Mr.  John  Osborn  Sar- 
gent, who  makes  Horace  his  own  by  faithful  study  and  ours 
by  scholarly  translation  ;  Isaac  McLellan,  who  was  writing  in 
1830,  and  whose  last  work  is  dated  1886  ;  and  Christopher  P. 
Cranch,  whose  poetical  gift  has  too  rarely  found  expression. 
Of  these  many  dead  you  are  the  most  .venerated,  revered 
and  beloved  survivor ;  of  these  few  living  the  most  honored 
representative.  Long  may  it  be  before  you  leave  a  world 
where  your  influence  has  been  so  beneficent,  where  your 


328  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

example  has  been  such  inspiration,  where   you  are  so  truly 
loved,  and  where  your  presence  is  a  perpetual  benediction. 
Always  affectionately  yours, 


Following  is  one  of  two  stanzas  sent  to 
the  Poet  of  Freedom  by  his  friend  "  Margaret 
Sidney,"  and  which,  says  the  Advertiser,  with 
one  other  tribute,  was  the  only  one  of  the 
innumerable  letters  and  poems  sent  him  that 
he  read  in  its  entirety  that  day,  owing  to  his 
failing  eyesight  : 

"  To  be  near  the  heart  of  Christ 

Was  his  creed  ; 
White  as  truth  the  life 

That  all  men  may  read  ; 
Strengthful  of  soul, 

Yet  lowly  in  meekness  ; 
Dreading  no  hate  of  men, 

Scorning  all  weakness, 
He  sounded  the  warning  note, 

When  it  cost  to  be  brave  and  true  ; 
Sang  freedom  for  the  slave, 

Then  almost  death  to  do. 
'  Unbind  every  shackle, 
Loosen  each  chain, 
Bid  every  slave  go  free  !  '  " 

Mr.  F.  B.  Sanborn  wrote  some  interesting 
autobiographical  reminiscences  for  the  Ad- 


TWILIGHT  AND   EVENING   BELL. 


329 


vertiser.  He  stated :  "  I  can  scarcely  remem- 
ber when  I  did  not  read  Whittier  and  Holmes. 
Their  verses  were  eagerly  caught  up  and  re- 
printed by  all  the  newspapers,  and  I  knew 
them  by  heart  before  I  ever  saw  a  volume  of 
them.  Whittier,  indeed,  was  almost  my 
neighbor,  living  only  eight  miles  away 
across  the  Merrimack,  and  sometimes  coming 
for  silent  worship  or  to  hear  Mrs.  Edward 
Gove  speak  in  the  Quaker  meeting-house  at 
3eabrook,  only  three  miles  from  the  farm  of 
my  ancestors.  But  I  did  not  know  this 
then ;  I  never  went  there  to  see  him.  He 
is  a  distant  cousin  of  mine,  both  of  us  trac- 
ing descent,  through  his  daughters,  from 
that  stout  and  ungovernable  old  Puritan 
minister,  Stephen  Bachiler,  who  planted  the 
old  town  of  Hampton,  in  whose  wide  limits 
I  was  born,  and  which  extended  almost  to 
Amesbury." 

Another  scholarly  writer  in  the  same  paper 
wrote  instructively  of  Whittier  in  the  Massa- 
chusetts Legislature.  The  Legislature  of 
1835  he  describes  as  a  notable  one  in  the 
quality  of  its  members  and  in  the  work 
accomplished.  An  extra  session  was  held 
in  the  autumn.  The  Speaker  of  the  House 


33O  fOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

was  Judge  Julius  Rockwell  of  Pittsfield. 
with  whom  Whittier  had  already  formed  a 
personal  acquaintance  through  Judge  Rock- 
well's contributions  to  the  New  England 
Review.  Among  the  Suffolk  County  rep- 
resentatives were  such  names  as  Frothing- 
ham,  Brooks,  Otis,  Sturgis,  Peabody,  and 
Hon.  Robert  C.  Winthrop,  also  Col.  J.  B. 
Fay,  the  first  mayor  of  Chelsea.  It  is  not 
remembered  that  Whittier  made  any  set 
speech,  but  he  nevertheless  did  so  much  and 
such  arduous  work  as  to  make  himself  ill 
before  the  session  was  half  over.  Dr.  Bow- 
ditch,  he  often  recalled  with  amusement,  told 
him  that,  if  he  followed  implicitly  the  rules 
he  laid  down  for  him,  he  might  live  to  see 
his  fiftieth  birthday  ;  otherwise,  not. 

Perhaps  no  one  man  has  been  more  fre- 
quently interviewed  concerning  the  policy 
of  party  politics  than  John  G.  Whittier. 
With  gifted  qualities  of  heart  and  mind,  was 
added  wisdom,  prudence  and  sagacity,  in  all 
that  related  to  governmental  affairs.  The 
late  Henry  Wilson  once  said  of  him,  "  I  can 
rely  more  safely  upon  the  advice  of  Whittier 
than  upon  any  other  man  in  America." 

In  the  early  movements  of  the  Republi- 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  331 

can  party  he  was  acknowledged  to  be  the 
power  behind  the  throne.  Sumner,  wise  and 
learned,  could  trust  to  the  advice  of  Whittier. 
His  correspondence  with  such  men  as  Gid- 
dings,  Chase,  Sumner,  Wilson,  John  P.  Hale, 
Upham  and  other  celebrities,  upon  national 
topics,  is  known  to  a  few  of  his  friends. 
They  contain  sentiments  which  prove  him 
as  wise  in  statesmanship  as  he  is  eloquent  in 
verse. 

How  well  and  faithfully  he  labored  is  best 
expressed  in  his  words  : 

"  I  am  not  insensible  to  literary  reputation  ; 
I  love,  perhaps  too  well,  the  love  and  praise 
of  my  fellowmen ;  but  I  set  a  higher  value 
on  my  name  as  appended  to  the  Anti-Slavery 
Declaration  of  1833,  than  on  the  title  page 
of  any  book." 

On  the  subject  of  the  abolishment  of  cap- 
ital punishment,  Whittier's  vote  is  found 
recorded  in  the  affirmative,  as  might  have 
been  expected.  He  has  said  that  one  of  the 
pleasantest  years  of  his  life  was  that  passed 
during  the  session  of  the  Legislature  in  1835. 

One  of  the  chief  reasons  why  Whittier 
went  seven  miles  from  his  Amesbury  home 
last  summer  was  to  "  escape  pilgrims  "  (as  he 


232  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

called  them).  One  Sunday  after  meeting  at 
Amesbury  he  said  to  his  life-long  friend, 
Miss  Gove,  "  Abby,  has  thee  a  spare  room 
up  at  thy  house  ?  "  She  responded  in  the 
affirmative,  and  he  went  to  her  home  in 
Hampton  Falls  for  the  latter  part  of  the 
summer.  It  was  here  he  penned  his  last 
poem  —  the  verses  "  To  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes : " 


"  The  gift  is  thine  the  weary  world  to  make 
More  cheerful  for  thy  sake, 
Soothing  the  ears  its  Miserere  pains 
With  the  old  Hellenic  strains." 


In  a  letter  to  one  of  the  editors  of  the 
Critic  (August  29,  1892),  Dr.  Holmes  wrote, 
concerning  his  birthday  : 

"  I  have  received  two  poems  in  advance, 
and  our  dear  friend  Whittier,  whose  heart  is 
a  cornucopia  of  blessings  for  his  fellow-crea- 
tures, has  remembered  me  in  the  pages  of 
the  Atlantic,  where  we  have  found  ourselves 
side  by  side  for  so  many  years.  Long  may 
the  sands  of  his  life  keep  running,  for  they 
come  from  the  bed  of  Pactolus." 

The  news  of  his  friend's  death  was  re- 
ceived by  Dr.  Holmes  in  Beverly,  just  as  he 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  333 

was  coming  in  from  a  drive  along  the  shore. 
It  was  a  heavy  blow,  coming  as  it  did  just 
upon  the  death  of  Lowell,  Thomas  Parsons, 
and  George  William  Curtis.  He  remarked 
that  his  acquaintance  with  Whittier  dated 
from  the  year  of  the  founding  of  the  Atlantic 
Monthly.  He  had  frequently  visited  him  at 
Oak  Knoll.  He  was  there  last  year,  and  the 
two  old  fellows  walked  and  talked  among  the 
trees  and  had  a  good  time  together.  When 
the  Doctor  was  leaving,  his  friend  loaded  him 
down  with  fruit.  It  was  on  one  of  these  re- 
cent visits  that  Dr.  Holmes  with  character- 
istic keenness  of  perception,  discovered  the 
beautiful  symmetry  of  the  grand  Norway 
spruce  in  front  of  the  mansion  on  the  wide 
sweep  of  lawn,  and  he  laughingly  named  it 
"  The  Poet's  Pagoda,"  and  this  name  it  has 
kept  ever  since. 

To  return  to  "  Elmfield,"  as  the  old  Gove 
mansion  is  called.  The  old-fashioned  house, 
with  its  upper  balconies,  heavy  chimneys, 
and  rich  collection  of  historical  relics,  stands 
on  a  hill  not  far  from  the  falls  which  gave  the 
name  to  the  village  —  Hampton  Falls.  The 
sight  from  Whittier's  window  commanded  a 
little  balcony,  with  a  view  of  the  distant  blue 


334  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

sea.  One  day  after  another  passed  quietly 
away,  he  rising  at  seven,  going  across  through 
a  pine  grove  to  the  adjoining  tavern  for  his 
breakfast,  getting  the  mail  at  the  little  post- 
office,  reading  the  papers,  looking  at  the 
distant  sails  on  the  sea  through  a  glass,  con- 
versing with  friends  or  walking  in  the  neigh- 
boring orchard,  with  its  paths  and  rustic 
seats.  •  The  region  is  that  where  his  Bachiler 
and  Hussey  ancestors  both  lived,  as  Mr.  F.  B. 
Sanborn  tells  us  (Boston  Advertiser,  Septem- 
ber 8,  1892).  Daniel  Webster's  Bachiler  an- 
cestors also  lived  on  a  farm,  a  mile  and  a  half 
from  the  Gove  mansion;  namely, where  now 
stands  the  villa  of  Warren  Brown.  As  Mr. 
Sanborn  truthfully  says,  Whittier  has  been 
the  local  poet  of  this  whole  region  of  Essex 
and  adjoining  counties.  "  No  poet  of  New 
England,"  he  continues,  "  has  lived  so  close 
to  the  actual  habits  of  the  people,  in  the 
present  and  the  past  centuries,  as  did  Whit- 
tier  ;  and  his  poems  of  locality  will  become 
as  much  a  feature  of  New  England  liter- 
ature as  are  those  of  Burns  and  Scott  in 
their  native  country.  This  fidelity  to  homely 
fact  and  profound  sentiment  have  made 
Whittier  more  than  any  other  the  patrial 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  335 

and  religious  poet  of  New  Hampshire  and 
Eastern  Massachusetts.  He  has  done  in 
verse  what  Hawthorne  did  in  prose.  It  was 
only  the  accident  or  accomplishment  of  verse 
which  separated  these  two  poets,  and  made 
one  of  them  our  most  graceful  and  romantic 
prose-writer,  while  the  other  became  our 
most  spiritual  and  literal  poet." 

The  truth  of  these  statements  comes  home 
to  me  with  force  since  I  made  a  week's  itin- 
erary through  this  Whittier  ballad  land  a  year 
ago,  and  saw  how  every  mile  of  coast  land 
was  celebrated  in  storied  verse  by  Whittier. 

On  Wednesday,  August  31,  Mr.  Whittier 
was  taken  ill.  The  malady  was  acute  diar- 
rhea, which  by  the  Saturday  following  de- 
veloped a  new  and  alarming  symptom,  a 
remarkable  irregularity  of  the  heart's  action, 
accompanied  by  partial  paralysis  of  the  left 
side,  arms,  and  vocal  organs.  He  remained 
conscious  until  Tuesday  at  three  p.  M.,  when 
the  symptoms  became  markedly  worse.  He 
was  surrounded  by  ministering  relatives  and 
friends,  who  gave  him  every  loving  atten- 
tion, but  all  were  powerless  to  stay  the  hand 
of  death. 

When  urged  to  take  the  nourishment  pre- 


336  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

scribed  by  his  physicians,  he  said :  "  I  want 
water  from  Abby's  (Miss  Gove)  nice  well," 
and  as  it  was  given,  remarked  with  a  bright 
smile, "  That's  good  —  nothing  better."  Soon 
after,  as  his  forehead  was  being  bathed,  he 
said,  "  That  is  all  that  can  be  done."  To 
his  attending  physicians,  Drs.  Douglass  and 
Howe,  and  nurse,  he  said  :  "  I  am  worn  out 
—  thee  have  done  what  thee  could  —  I  thank 
thee."  And  as  the  end  drew  near  the  dying 
poet  recognized  his  niece  from  Portland,  and 
remarked  in  faltering  words,  "  Love — to  — 
the  —  world."  These  were  his  last  words. 
He  died  at  four-thirty  on  the  morning  of  the 
seventh.  At  seven  o'clock  on  Friday  eve- 
ning the  silent  form  of  the  poet  was  brought 
to  Amesbury,  accompanied  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
S.  T.  Pickard,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cartland. 

On  Saturday  morning  business  was  en- 
tirely suspended  in  Amesbury.  The  select- 
men issued  the  following  proclamation  :  — 

"  To  the  Citizens  of  Amesbury  :  —  Our  town  has  been  sad- 
dened by  the  death  of  its  great  poet  and  one  of  its  noblest 
and  best-loved  citizens.  We  feel  that  our  country  at  large, 
and  the  civilized  world,  mourns  with  us  the  death  of  the 
poet  and  liberty-loving  philanthropist,  John  G.  Whittier. 

"  Sharing  the  sadness  which  must  come  to  the  wise  and 
good  ever)  where,  we,  the  people  of  Amesbury,  mourn  the  loss 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  339 

of  a  friend  and  neighbor  endeared  to  us  by  his  lovable  quali- 
ties and  the  purity  of  his  daily  life  in  our  midst. 

"  We  revered  him  for  his  greatness,  and  loved  him  for 
himself.  Always  identified  with  every  good  work  in  Ames- 
bury,  sustaining  the  right  and  defending  the  oppressed,  his 
life  for  more  than  half  a  century  has  been  to  us  a  daily 
sermon. 

"  If  it  be  true  that 

'  The  heart  speaketh  most  when  the  life  move,' 

we  can  only  add  that  such  a  life,  with  its  fullness  of  years  and 
its  crown  of  blessings,  is  a  rich  legacy  to  the  community." 

At  ten  o'clock  the  public  was  admitted  to 
the  house,  passing  in  a  continuous  line  (as 
at  the  funeral  of  dear  old  Walt  Whitman, 
his  brotherpoet  of  Democracy,  a  few  months 
before  in  Camden)  through  the  humble  little 
parlor  of  the  Amesbury  home.  It  was  orig- 
inally intended  to  hold  the  services  in  the 
Friends'  meeting-house  near  by ;  but  the 
dense  fog  clearing  up  and  the  bright  sun 
coming  out — as  one  beautifully  said,  "the 
mystery  of  death  typified  by  the  shifting  and 
elusive  shadows  of  the  fog,  and  the  glory 
and  hopefulness  of  the  resurrection  by  the 
bright  rays  of  the  sun" — it  was  decided  to 
let  the  body  rest  in  the  house,  and  hold 
memorial  services  in  the  quiet  garden  in  the 


34-O  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

rear  of  the  house.  The  funeral  arrange- 
ments were  in  charge  of  William  Lloyd 
Garrison,  Jr.,  S.  T.  Pickard  and  Judge  G. 
W.  Gate,  the  tenant  of  the  house.  The 
atmosphere  was  one  of  peace  and  restful- 
ness,  and  the  simplicity  of  the  life  of  the 
Friends  was  seen  in  all  the  arrangements. 
In  the  quaint  parlor  of  the  homestead  lay 
all  that  was  mortal  of  the  poet,  on  whose  face 
was  an  expression  of  supreme  peace ;  his  form 
was  encircled  by  a  delicate  fringe  of  trailing 
fern.  A  most  beautiful  wreath  from  Dr. 
Oliver  Wendell  Holmes  —  eighty-four  white 
roses,  fringed  with  carnations  and  maidenhair 
ferns,  one  for  each  year  of  the  poet's  life, 
—  was  laid  around  the  name-plate  on  the 
coffin.  It  was  a  touching  tribute  by  the  last 
one  of  that  remarkable  galaxy  of  poets  that 
marked  such  a  distinguished  era  in  our 
American  literature.  Two  crossed  palms, 
with  the  Japan  lilies  Whittier  loved  so  well, 
encircled  by  a  broad  white  satin  ribbon,  were 
from  Mrs.  Daniel  Lothrop.  The  fronds  of 
the  long  palms  encircled  the  face  of  the  dead 
poet  as  it  looked  out  from  the  large  engraving 
between  the  windows  of  the  parlor.  Upon 
the  end  of  the  ribbon  was  delicately  painted 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  34! 

six  lines  from  Whittier's  "  Andrew  Rykman's 
Prayer :  " 

"  Some  sweet  morning  yet  in  God's 
Dim  asonian  periods, 
Joyful  I  shall  wake  to  see 
Those  I  love  who  rest  in  Thee, 
And  to  them  in  Thee  allied 
Shall  my  soul  be  satisfied.'' 

Upon  the  accompanying  card  was  this: 
"  In  memory  of  my  husband's  dear  friend. 
This  verse  of  '  Andrew  Rykman's  Prayer 
was  consolation  in  the  hour  of  death  to  both 
him  who  wrote  it,  and  to  him  who  loved  it. 
—  Mrs.  Daniel  Lothrop." 

Another  exquisite  floral  offering  came 
with  these  lines  : 

"  I  know  not  where  His  islands  lift 

Their  fronded  palms  in  air  ; 
I  only  know  I  cannot  drift 

Beyond  His  love  and  care." 

On  the  back  of  the  card  were  the  words 
"  Oak  Knoll." 

The  alcove  behind  the  casket  was  filled 
with  floral  tributes.  Here  was  a  large  St. 
Andrew's  cross  of  exquisite  white  roses 


342  JOHN  GKEENLEAF   WHITT1ER. 

upon  a  bed  of  ivy,  from  a  very  near  and 
dear  friend  of  Mr.  Whittier's  at  Lexington, 
whose  name  is  withheld.  There  was  a 
ladder  of  hydrangeas,  gladioli,  carnations 
and  snow-balls  from  Mrs.  Albert  Clarke  of 
Amesbury,  an  ivy  wreath  from  Sarah  Orne 
Jewett,  a  sheaf  of  wheat  from  Mrs.  Lizzie 
Cheney  and  the  Misses  Coffin  of  Lynn,  a 
broken  shaft  of  white  carnations  from  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  J.  Henry  Hall  of  Amesbury.  A 
massive  wreath  of  Whittier's  own  much- 
loved  pine  tassels  was  hung  above  the  por- 
trait of  his  sister  Elizabeth,  the  tribute  of 
Mrs.  Joseph  A.  Purington;  the  heavy  green 
was  relieved  by  a  spray  of  bright,  contrast- 
ing goldenrod.  Mrs.  Samuel  Rowell,  Jr., 
sent  a  basket  of  white  roses  and  maidenhair. 
There  was  a  beautiful  spray  of  the  passion 
flower  from  L.  Keleher,  Hotel  Winthrop, 
Boston,  and  an  hour-glass  of  white  car- 
nations from  Mr.  J.  R.  Fogg.  Many  touch- 
ing little  clusters  of  flowers  came  from  the 
children  ;  and  his  neighbors  sent  a  beauti- 
ful wreath  of  fringed  gentian  —  Whittier's 
favorite  flower.  This  came  from  the  far 
Pacific  Slope :  "  Lay  one  flower  for  me 
upon  the  bier  of  the  beloved  friend  who 


TWILIGHT  AND   EVENING  BELL.  343 

rests.  No  purer  soul  ever  passed  from  earth 
to  Heaven,  or  bore  with  it  greater  love  and 
blessing  than  does  his. —  Ina  D.  Coolbrith, 
Oakland,  Cal." 

In  the  garden,  and  overlooked  by  the  win- 
dows of  the  study  where  Mr.  Whittier  wrote 
and  thought  for  so  many  years,  was  gathered 
to  pay  the  last  tributes  of  love  and  reverence 
to  the  dead  poet,  a  large  and  notable  assem- 
blage :  Gen.  O.  O.  Howard,  E.  C.  Stedman, 
Mrs.  Alice  Freeman  Palmer,  Mrs.  Elizabeth 
Stuart  Phelps-Ward,  Gail  Hamilton,  Lucy 
Larcom,  Edna  Dean  Proctor,  Horace  E. 
Scudder,  T.  W.  Higfifinson,  ex-Governor 

oo 

Claflin,  Parker  Pillsbury,  Francis  H.  Under- 
wood, Edward  L.  Pierce,  Robert  S.  Rantoul, 
Mrs.  C.  A.  Dall,  "Margaret  Sidney,"  Har- 
riet Prescott  Spofford,  Mrs.  Endicott,  Wm. 
Lloyd  Garrison,  Jr.,  Frank  J.  Garrison,  etc 

And  the  sight  was  one  never  to  be  forgot- 
ten. Under  the  soft  September  sky,  blue 
and  cloudless,  in  the  shade  of  pear  and  apple 
trees  which  Whittier  himself  had  planted 
and  tended  and  loved,  were  his  relatives, 
friends,  neighbors  and  men  and  women 
whose  names  are  known  wherever  the  Eng- 
lish language  is  spoken. 


344  JOHN  GKEENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

It  scarcely  seemed  like  a  funeral,  so  un- 
affectedly natural  and  sincere  was  every 
spoken  word  and  every  act.  And  the  entire 
absence  of  formality  and  stiffness  deprived 
the  occasion  of  that  artificial  gloom  which  is 
so  often  characteristic  of  funerals. 

Perhaps,  too,  the  subtle  influence  of  the 
balmy  air  and  the  beauties  of  the  place 
helped  to  lift  the  pall  that  must  have  hung 
over  many  a  heart.  It  was  as  if  the  friends 
of  some  dearly  beloved  man,  who  was  going 
on  a  journey,  had  gathered  to  bid  him  God- 
speed —  not  as  if  they  had  come  to  bid  him 
farewell. 

A  hollow  square  was  formed  around  a  low 
platform,  and  near  by  was  a  table  with  a 
Bible  upon  it.  Gentians,  one  of  Whittier's 
favorite  flowers,  and  goldenrod  formed  the 
only  floral  ornaments.  Back  of  the  seats 
stood  a  dense  crowd  that  must  have  num- 
bered thousands,  almost  filling  the  garden. 
Children  climbed  the  trees  and  looked  with 
open-eyed  wonder  on  the  scene.  On  an 
apple  bough,  his  naked  legs  dangling  in  the 
air  almost  over  the  head  of  Edmund  Clarence 
Stedman,  was  an  urchin  who  might  have  in- 
spired the  "  Barefoot  Boy;"  faces  peered 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  345 

from  many  a  tree,  from  the  vine-clad  arbor 
and  from  the  window  of  a  neighboring  barn, 
down  upon  the  crowd. 

The  poet's  relatives,  and  members  of  the 
Society  of  Friends  from  various  places,  occu- 
pied the  seats  forming  the  hollow  square,  an 
easy-chair  being  reserved  for  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes,  but  he  was  unable  to  be  present. 

The  Friends  gave  the  exercises  their 
peculiar  complexion  ;  first  one  and  then 
another  rising  to  eulogize  their  friend  as  the 
"  Spirit  moved  them."  Verses  of  Whittier 
were  recited  by  "  that  lovely  Quaker  lady," 
Mrs.  Gertrude  Cartland,  and  by  Mrs.  James 
H.  Chace.  Mr.  E.  C.  Stedman  was  the  last 
speaker. 

He  spoke  of  the  personal  loss  he  felt 
in  the  poet's  death.  "  To  know  him  was  a 
consecration,  to  have  his  sympathy  a  bene- 
diction. His  passing  away  was  not  so  much 
a  death  as  a  translation.  He  is  gone,  and 
has  not  left  his  mantle  !  How  could  he  ? 
Why  should  he  ?  No  one  can  overestimate 
his  artless  art,  his  power,  vigor  and  effect 
in  his  polemic  efforts.  No  one  put  so  much 
heart  or  so  much  religion  into  his  writings. 
He  was  one  of  the  great  trio  of  New  Eng- 


346  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

land  poets,  of  whom  there  is  only  one  now 
left.  They  are  the  vanishers  of  whom  he 
spoke.  He  was  a  believer  in  the  inward 
life,  as  a  poet  should  be.  He  will  be  his 
own  successor,  and  belongs  to  our  time  as 
well  as  to  that  earlier  time  to  which  he  is 
linked  by  his  work.  We  may  say  of  him 
that  the  chariot  swung  low  and  he  was  trans- 
lated, dividing  the  waters  of  truth,  beauty, 
and  religion  with  his  mantle.  The  last  time 
I  spoke  at  a  memorial  service  was  at  Bayard 
Taylor's  funeral.  Taylor  was  Whittier's 
friend,  and  like  Whittier  he  had  a  firm 
belief  in  immortality." 

It  is  to  Mr.  Stedman  that  Whittier  dedi- 
cated in  a  few  choice  lines  his  latest  volume 
of  verse,  "  At  Sundown,"  which  the  poet, 
as  if  prescient  of  his  coming  death,  had 
had  privately  printed  and  circulated  among 
a  few  friends  a  year  before  his  fatal  illness. 

The  most  picturesque  and  striking  figure 
at  Whittier's  funeral  was  that  of  the  vener- 
able John  W.  Hutchinson,  whose  long  gray 
hair  fell  over  a  broad  white  Rembrandt 
collar.  He  and  his  sister,  Abby  Hutchin- 
son Patton,  were  life-long  friends  of  Whit- 
tier, and  their  voices  in  the  song  they  sang  — 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL. 


347 


"Close  his  eyes,  his  work  is  done"  —  were, 
"  like  the  echoes  of  sweet  bells  from  the  far- 
away time  of  their  youth,  when  they  and 
Whittier  were  one  in  endeavor." 

And  then  the  long  procession  was  formed. 
In  the  family  lot,  in  the  Friends'  section  of 
the  Union  Cemetery,  where  are  buried  his 
father,  mother,  sisters  and  brother,  John 
Greenleaf  Whittier  was  laid  to  rest. 

The  Boston  Journal,  in  writing  of  Whit- 
tier's  obsequies,  gathered  up  this  tender 
reminiscence  :  — 

"  We  recall  the  incident  of  some  ten 
years  since,  when  Mr.  Daniel  Lothrop,  the 
late  publisher,  while  visiting  in  California, 
used  Whittier's  poem,  '  Andrew  Rykman's 
Prayer  '  to  comfort  the  bereaved.  Mr. 
Lothrop  had,  as  it  were,  been  brought  up 
on  Mr.  Whittier's  poems,  there  being  in 
many  ways  a  great  similarity  of  tastes  and 
characteristics  between  them.  Of  late  years 
there  was  a  strong  friendship.  The  clergy- 
man of  a  prominent  Oakland  church  had 
died  suddenly  in  the  pulpit  some  few  weeks 
before,  and  at  the  large  memorial  meeting 
Mr.  Lothrop  was  asked  without  warning  by 
the  chairman  to  recite  this  poem,  as  he  had 


348  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

heard  him  repeat  a  few  lines  from  it  dur- 
ing a  consecration  meeting.  Mr.  Lothrop 
ascended  the  platform  and  gave  the  poem 
entire.  There  was  a  profound  hush  through- 
out the  vast  assembly,  like  that  following 
the  instant  when  the  beloved  pastor  had 
suddenly  fallen  before  their  eyes.  Many 
were  in  tears,  all  agreeing  that  Whittier's 
strong,  uplifting  words  comforted  them 
more  than  anything  else  that  had  been  said. 
Rev.  Dr.  Gordon,  in  the  address  at  Mr. 
Lothrop's  funeral  in  the  Old  South  Church, 
appropriately  recited  this  poem  for  the  late 
publisher,  who  on  his  death-bed  used  this 
poem,  as  he  had  in  health  and  strength." 

James  G.  Elaine  telegraphed  that  he  had 
"  long  regarded  Whittier  with  affectionate 
veneration,"  and  over  the  wire  came  from 
Frederick  Douglas  the  words,  "  Emanci- 
pated millions  will  hold  his  memory  sacred." 
Speaking  of  Mr.  Elaine,  a  writer, "  S.  F.  M.," 
in  the  Boston  Journal,  December  18,  1891, 
tells  of  Mr.  Elaine's  presenting  his,  "  S.  F. 
M.'s,"  brother  with  a  morocco-bound  copy  of 
the  beautiful  Mussey  edition,  and  of  Mr. 
Elaine's  reading  and  re-reading  aloud,  one 
Sunday  at  their  house  in  Charlestown,  Mass., 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL. 


349 


the  poem  "  Among  the  Hills,"  which  had 
then  just  been  issued. 

Memorial  services  on  the  afternoon  of  the 
funeral  were  held  in  Danvers,  Haverhill, 
Salem,  Mass.,  and  Vassalboro,  Maine.  The 
old  Whittier  grange  at  the  cross  roads  in 
Haverhill  was  draped  in  mourning.  The 
present  owner  of  the  birthplace  is  Mr. 
George  E.  Elliott,  a  retired  wealthy  gentle- 
man of  Haverhill  ;  and  it  is  hoped  that  at 
no  distant  day  he  may  be  induced  to  sell  it 
to  the  town  of  Haverhill,  who  would  sacredly 
keep  this  cherished  spot  marking  the  nativ- 
ity of  her  distinguished  son,  so  that  all 
lovers  of  John  G.  Whittier's  poetry  may 
have  an  opportunity  to  see  his  early  home. 

The  day  after  the  funeral  between  sevem 
teen  and  eighteen  hundred  people  visited  the 
grave.  And,  as  in  the  case  of  Walt  Whit- 
man's grave,  each  one  wanted  a  leaf  or 
flower  as  a  memento,  so  that  it  was  neces- 
sary in  both  cases  to  have  the  place  of 
sepulture  guarded  by  special  watchmen,  in 
order  that  anything  green  be  left. 

The  funeral  of  the  poet  was  conducted  as 
he  himself  wished.  For  in  his  will  he  wrote, 
"  It  is  my  wish  that  my  funeral  may  be  con- 


350  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

ducted  in  the  plain  and  quiet  way  of  the 
Society  of  Friends,  with  which  I  am  con- 
nected not  only  by  birthright,  but  also  by  a 
settled  conviction  of  the  truth  of  its  principles 
and  the  importance  of  its  testimonies."  Mr. 
Whittier,  by  the  way,  in  his  will  requests  all 
who  have  letters  of  his  to  refrain  from  pub- 
lishing them  unless  with  the  consent  of  his 
literary  executor,  Mr.  S.  T.  Pickard. 

So  beautifully  ended  a  most  beautiful  life 
—  beautiful  because  just  and  heroic  in  the 
defense  of  justice.  As  says  of  him  James 
Herbert  Morse:  — 

"  Such  was  the  man  —  no  more  than  simple  man, 
Plain  Quaker,  with  the  Norman-Saxon  glow  ; 

But  seeing  beauty  so,  and  justice  so, 
We  love  to  think  him  the  American." 

And  as  Lowell  says  :  — 

"  Peaceful  by  birthright  as  a  virgin  lake, 
The  lily's  anchorage,  which  no  eyes  behold 

Save  those  of  stars,  yet  for  thy  brother's  sake 
That  lay  in  bonds  thou  blew'st  a  blast  as  bold 

As  that  wherewith  the  heart  of  Roland  brake, 
Far  heard  through  Pyrenean  valleys  cold ! " 

The  lines  strong  and  resonant,  of  Sted- 
man's  "  Ad  Vatem,"  addressed  to  Whittier 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  351 

while  living,  might  well  have  been  uttered 
over  his  bier  : — 

"  Whittier,  the  land  that  loves  thee,  she  whose  child 
Thou  art,  and  whose  uplifted  hands  thou  long 
Hast  staid  with  song  availing  like  a  prayer  — 
She  feels  a  sudden  pang  who  gave  thee  birth, 
And  gave  to  thee  the  lineaments  supreme 
Of  her  own  freedom,  that  she  could  not  make 
Thy  tissues  all  immortal,  or,  if  to  change, 
To  bloom  through  years  coeval  with  her  own ; 
So  that  no  touch  of  age  nor  frost  of  time 
Should  wither  thee,  nor  furrow  thy  dear  face, 
Nor  fleck  thy  hair  with  silver.     Ay,  she  feels 
A  double  pang  that  thee,  with  each  new  year 
Glad  youth  may  not  revisit,  like  the  spring 
That  routs  her  northern  winter  and  anew 
Melts  off  the  hoar  snow  from  her  puissant  hills." 

Many  pleasant  anecdotes  of  the  Quaker 
poet  appeared  shortly  after  his  death.  Col. 
T.  W.  Higginson,  writing  of  the  Amesbury 
home,  said  of  Whittier's  mother:  — 

"  On  one  point  only  this  blameless  soul 
seemed  to  have  a  shadow  of  solicitude,  this 
being  the  new  wonder  of  Spiritualism  just 
dawning  on  the  world.  I  never  went  to  the 
house  that  there  did  not  come  from  the  gen- 
tle lady  very  soon  a  placid  inquiry  from  be- 
hind her  knitting  needles,  '  Has  thee  any 
further  information  to  give  in  regard  to  the 


352  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

spiritual  communications,  as  they  call  them  ? ' 
But  if  I  attempted  to  treat  seriously  a  matter 
which  then,  as  now,  puzzled  most  inquirers 
by  its  perplexing  details,  there  would  come 
some  keen  thrust  from  Elizabeth  Whittier 
which  would  throw  all  serious  solution 
further  off  than  ever. 

"  She  was  indeed  a  brilliant  person,  unsur- 
passed in  my  memory  for  the  light  cavalry 
charges  of  wit;  as  unlike  her  mother  and 
brother  as  if  she  had  been  born  into  a  dif- 
ferent race.  Instead  of  his  regular  features, 
she  had  a  wild,  bird-like  look,  with  promi- 
nent nose  and  large  liquid  dark  eyes,  whose 
expression  vibrated  every  instant  between 
melting  softness  and  impetuous  wit.  There 
was  nothing  about  her  that  was  not  sweet 
and  kindly,  but  you  were  constantly  taxed  to 
keep  up  with  her  sallies  and  hold  your  own  ; 
while  her  graver  brother  listened  with  de- 
lighted admiration  and  rubbed  his  hands 
over  bits  of  merry  sarcasm  which  were 
utterly  alien  to  his  own  vein.  His  manifold 
visitors  were  touched  off  in  living  colors  ;  two 
plump  and  rosy  Western  girls  among  them, 
who  had  lately  descended  upon  the  house- 
hold beaming  with  eagerness  to  see  the  poet. 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  353 

"  They  had  announced  themselves  as  the 
Gary  sisters,  who  had  lately  sent  him  their 
joint  poems  — verses,  it  will  be  remembered, 
crowded  with  deaths  and  melodious  dirges 
that  seemed  ludicrously  inconsistent  with 
the  blooming  faces  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Whit- 
tier  met  them  rather  guardedly  and  explained 
that  her  son  was  out.  '  But  we  will  come  in 
and  wait  for  him,'  they  smilingly  replied. 
4  But  he  is  in  Boston,  and  may  not  be  home 
for  a  week,'  said  the  prudent  mother.  '  No 
matter,'  they  said,  in  the  true  spirit  of  West- 
ern hospitality  ;  '  we  can  stay  till  he  returns.' 
There  was  no  resource  but  to  admit  them ; 
and  happily  the  poet  came  back  next  day, 
and  there  ensued  a  life-long  friendship,  in 
which  the  mother  fully  shared." 

And  another  reminiscence  appeared  in 
the  press,  touching  the  poet's  residence  in 
Boston. 

"  When  Mrs.  Celia  Thaxter  was  boarding 
at  the  little  English-like  inn  on  the  sunny 
slope  of  Beacon  Hill  called  Hotel  Winthrop, 
Mr.  Whittier  went  there  one  day  to  see  her. 
Mrs.  Thaxter  liked  the  quiet  place,  with  its 
ivied  window  and  its  glimpse  of  the  strong, 
short,  green-draped  tower  of  St.  John  the 

23 


354  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

Evangelist's,  and  she  praised  it  to  her  old 
friend.  That  was  some  time  in  1881,  and  in 
November  of  that  year  he  joined  his  Oak 
Knoll  cousins,  Mrs.  Woodman  and  her 
daughter  and  the  Misses  Johnson,  at  the 
Winthrop.  The  ladies  of  the  family  came 
in  September,  but  Mr.  Whittier  did  not  join 
them  until  November.  He  said  that  he  did 
not  want  to  lose  his  vote  in  Amesbury. 

It  was  a  winter  full  of  pleasure  to  the 
poet.  He  was  then  not  too  feeble  to  go  out 
evenings,  and  he  spent  many  pleasant  hours 
with  friends  like  the  Claflins  and  others. 
But  the  hours  in  the  parlor  of  the  hotel 
make  the  place  historic,  and  give  it  a  special 
interest  and  meaning  for  his  future  biog- 
rapher. Mr.  Whittier  had  room  fourteen 
(the  number  of  a  sonnet's  lines,  twice  seven, 
with  luck  for  a  poet),  and  the  fire-escape 
made  a  little  balcony  for  him  on  a  corner 
toward  St.  John's.  The  landlord  had  a  door 
cut  through  the  thick  old  wall  to  the  rooms 
adjoining,  and  these  were  the  rooms  of  Mrs. 
Woodman  and  the  rest.  It  is  old  Boston 
decidedly  in  that  quarter.  The  brick  of  the 
houses  is  mellow  old  red,  and  there  is  noth- 
ing newfangled  anywhere  about.  Mr.  Whit- 


TWILIGHT  AND   EVENING  BELL. 


355 


tier  said  he  preferred  coming  here  rather 
than  to  one  of  the  big  hotels,  because  there 
he  was  "  overwhelmed  with  the  service,"  and 
here  it  seemed  "  more  like  Amesbury," 
where  people  "are  neighborly  and  drop  in 
without  knocking."  He  had  "always  been 
used  to  waiting  upon  himself,"  and  he  "  liked 
being  in  a  place  where  they  would  let  him." 

It  was  his  custom,  mornings,  to  come  down 
into  the  little  reception-room  on  the  street 
floor,  and  "  sitting  right  in  that  chair  where 
you're  sitting,"  as  the  writer  was  told,  he 
"  used  to  read  his  letters  and  throw  all  the 
papers  in  a  pile  on  the  floor  and  go  off  and 
leave  them."  That  little  room  was  a  great 
place  of  congregation  for  "  the  family,"  as  the 
boarders  who  were  there  with  Mr.  Whittier 
liked  to  call  themselves. 

The  poet  would  sit  on  the  sofa  with  a 
favored  one  on  each  side  of  him  and  the  rest 
in  a  group  about,  "  often  on  footstools  or  on 
the  floor,  as  like  as  not,"  while  he  "  told 
stories  of  war  times."  Gen.  Stevens  was 
there  during  one  of  the  poet's  long  stays ;  he 
had  been  a  classmate  of  Gen.  Lee  and  of 
Jefferson  Davis  at  West  Point,  and  he  and 
the  abolition  poet  discussed  these  men  and 


356  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

their  times  from  the  broader  view  of  later 
days. 

"  Once  a  friend,  a  lady  who  had  some 
property  in  Virginia,  wrote  Mr.  Whittier  of 
having  named  a  street  in  a  new  town  for 
him,  and  of  having  set  aside  a  portion  of 
ground  in  his  name.  He  replied  with  thanks, 
saying  that  he  had  that  week  received  news 
of  no  less  than  three  towns  or  streets  being 
named  for  him  with  a  gift  of  town  lots,  ad- 
ding, '  If  this  sort  of  thing  goes  on  much 
longer,  I  shall  be  land  poor.' 

"  During  the  winters  he  was  at  the  Win- 
throp,  Mr.  Whittier's  favorite  way  of  getting 
about  was  in  a  herdic.  They  were  '  not 
pretty,'  but  they  '  knew  the  way  to  places.' 
Politicans  used  to  go  there  to  see  him  and 
try  to  get  him  to  banquets.  But  his  life-long 
avoidance  of  politics  in  the  minor  sense 
made  him  easily  resist  their  wiles.  '  I  have 

seen  Mr. (a  well-known  name)  come  here 

and  just  about  go  down  on  his  knees  to  get 
Mr.  Whittier  to  speak  or  even  to  come  to  a 
banquet,'  says  the  landlord  (who  is,  by  the 
way,  an  old-time  character  worthy  of  a  novel- 
ist's pen),  '  but  Mr.  Whittier  would  just  sit 
here  —  right  in  that  chair  you're  in — and 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  357 

kind  of  smile  to  himself  as  if  to  say,  "  Oh ! 
your  talk  don't  amount  to  anything."  Well, 

once  Mr. came  here  and  staid  and 

staid  a-talking  and  persuading,  and  gave 
Mr.  Whittier  an  earache  if  ever  a  man  had 
one.  But  he  didn't  make  anything  by  it, 
although  he  finally  had  to  take  a  bed  and 
stay  all  night.'  " 

Mr.  Charles  Brainard  visited  Whittier 
soon  after  the  publication  of  "  Snow-Bound." 
Finding  his  house  painted  and  improved,  he 
remarked  to  him,  "  It  is  evident  that  poetry 
has  ceased  to  be  a  drug  in  the  market." 

"  The  next  morning  Mr.  Whittier's  answer 
came.  It  was  in  the  winter,  and,  as  the  poet 
went  up  to  the  fire  to  warm  his  boots  pre- 
paratory to  putting  them  on,  he  said,  *  Thee 
will  have  to  excuse  me,  for  I  must  go  down 
to  the  office  of  the  Collector.'  Then,  with 
a  humorous  gleam  in  his  eye,  he  added, 
'  Since  "  Snow-Bound  "  was  published,  I  have 
risen  to  the  dignity  of  an  income  tax.' " 

To  an  Englishman  who  visited  him  not 
long  before  his  death,  Mr.  Whittier  expressed 
his  surprise  that  his  guest  should  know  so 
much  of  his  poetry  by  heart.  "  I  wonder," 
he  said,  "  thou  shouldst  burden  thy  memory 


358  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

with  all  that  rhyme.  It  is  not  well  to  have 
too  much  of  it :  better  get  rid  of  it  as  soon 
as  possible.  Why,  I  can't  remember  any  of 
it.  I  once  went  to  hear  a  wonderful  orator, 
and  he  wound  up  his  speech  with  a  poetical 
quotation,  and  I  clapped  with  all  my  might. 
Some  one  touched  me  on  the  shoulder,  and 
said.  '  Do  you  know  who  wrote  that  ? '  I 
said,  '  No,  I  don't ;  but  it's  good.'  It  seems 
I  had  written  it  myself.  The  fault  is  I  have 
written  far  too  much." 

Here  is  a  story  illustrating  Whittier's 
kind-heartedness  :  A  young  lady,  a  neigh- 
bor, was  asked  to  take  tea  at  his  house. 
"  He  had  no  servant  at  the  moment,  and, 
with  the  assistance  of  his  guest,  prepared  the 
simple  meal  with  his  own  hand.  She  con- 
tributed to  the  press  for  her  support,  and 
prepared  a  minute  account  of  the  affair,  of 
which  Mr.  Whittier  chanced  to  be  advised, 
and  sent  off  a  remonstrance  post  haste.  But 
when  the  young  author  pleaded  the  real  need 
of  the  money  which  the  little  story  was  to 
bring  her,  and  the  harmlessness  to  its  sub- 
ject of  its  effective  details,  the  former  reason 
(for  the  latter  would  never  have  overcome 
his  abhorrence  of  what  he  must  have  felt  a 


TWILIGHT  AND   EVENING  BELL.  359 

vivisection)  actually  prevailed,  and  he  per- 
mitted the  publication  with  a  benignant 
forbearance." 

The  Hon.  Nathan  Crosby,  LL.  D.,  writes 
in  the  Essex  Institute  Collections  for  1880. 

"  James  F.  Otis,  nephew  of  the  Hon.  H. 
G.  Otis,  while  reading  law  in  my  office, 
found  in  some  newspaper  a  piece  of  poetry 
which  he  said  he  was  told  had  been  written 
by  a  shoemaker  boy  in  Haverhill,  and  he 
wished  to  go  and  find  him.  Upon  his  return 
he  told  me  he  found  the  young  man  by  the 
name  of  Whittier  at  work  in  his  shoe  shop, 
and,  making  himself  known  to  him,  they 
spent  the  day  together  in  wandering  over 
the  hills  on  the  shore  of  the  Merrimack,  and 
in  conversation  upon  literary  matters.  The 
next  year  he  became  an  editor.  Mr.  Whit- 
tier  is  not  only  a  poet,  but  is  himself  a  poem." 

Mr.  Whittier,  when  interviewed  some  time 
ago  as  to  his  favorite  works,  replied :  "  Oh  ! 
really,  I  have  none.  Much  that  I  have 
written  I  wish  was  as  deep  in  the  Red  Sea 
as  Pharaoh's  chariot  wheels.  Much  of  the 
bread  cast  on  the  waters  I  wish  had  never 
returned.  It  is  not  fair  to  revive  writings 
composed  in  the  shadow  of  conditions  that 


360  JOHN  GREELNEAF  WHITTIER, 

make  every  acceptable  work  impossible.  In 
my  early  life  I  was  not  favored  with  good 
opportunities.  Limited  chances  for  educa- 
tion and  a  lack  of  books  always  stood  in  my 
way.  When  I  began  to  write  I  had  seen 
nothing,  and  virtually  knew  nothing  of  the 
world.  Of  course,  things  written  then  could 
not  be  worth  much.  In  my  father's  house 
there  were  not  a  dozen  books,  and  they 
were  of  a  severe  type.  The  only  one  that 
approached  poetry  was  a  rhymed  history  of 
King  David,  written  by  a  contemporary  of 
George  Fox,  the  Quaker.  There  was  one 
poor  novel  in  the  family.  It  belonged  to  an 
aunt.  This  I  secured  one  day,  but  when  I 
had  read  it  about  half  through  I  was  dis- 
covered and  it  was  taken  away  from  me." 

This  was  about  the  time  when  Judge 
Pickering,  of  Salem,  and  a  party  of  ladies 
called  at  the  farmhouse  to  see  him.  "  He 
was  then  an  awkward  boy  of  seventeen  —  as 
he  used  to  tell  the  story  —  and  was  just  then 
under  the  barn,  looking  for  eggs.  Hearing 
his  name  called,  he  came  up  with  his  hat 
full  and  found  himself  suddenly  in  the  pres- 
ence of  people  more  elegant  in  appearance 
than  any  he  had  ever  met.  In  telling  the 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  361 

story,  he  added  naively,  '  They  came  to  see 
the  Quaker  poet  —  and  they  saw  him  ! ' 
This  must  have  been  about  the  year  1824." 
Mr.  T.  W.  Ball  (in  the  Boston  Journal, 
Dec.  18,  1891,  weekly  edition),  the  journalist, 
wrote  of  his  sole  interview  in  1848  with  Whit- 
tier,  in  a  little  editorial  den  at  the  junction  of 
Spring  Lane  and  Water  Street  with  Devon- 
shire Street  (the  building  recently  torn  down), 
where  Henry  Wilson  was  then  editing  the 
Free-Soil  paper  (owned  by  him  as  well).  "  I 
was  busy,"  says  Mr.  Ball,  "  getting  up  some 
local  items  one  morning,  when  a  gentleman 
of  staid  appearance,  with  a  beaming  counte- 
nance, a  broad-brimmed  fur  hat  —  the  old- 
fashioned  fur  hat,  so  different  from  the  silk 
tile  —  and  a  brownish  coat  of  formal  cut,  en- 
tered the  room,  and,  after  the  usual  cour- 
tesies of  salutation,  fell  into  a  close  chat 
with  the  '  Natick  cobbler,'  by  which  popular 
title  the  future  Vice-President  was  then 
known.  It  was  the  summer  season,  and 
Wilson  was  resplendent  in  a  brown  linen 
coat  and  a  flaming  red-checked  velvet  waist- 
coat, which  was  much  affected  in  those  days. 
As  the  conversation  between  the  two  waxed 


362  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

interesting,  I  noticed  that  the  visitor  unbut- 
toned his  vest  for  comfort,  and  possessed 
himself  of  an  exchange  paper  which  he  con- 
verted into  a  fan.  The  interview  closed,  and 
the  visitor,  buttoning  up  his  vest  and  don- 
ning his  hat,  turned  to  depart,  when  for  the 
first  time  he  appeared  to  take  notice  of  my 
presence.  With  a  rapid  glance  at  Wilson, 
he  said,  '  Henry,  who  is  thy  young  friend  ?  ' 

"  '  Oh,  that's  William,  my  local  reporter,' 
was  the  reply.  '  Here,  William,  this  is  Mr. 
Whittier,  the  Quaker  poet,  that  you  have 
heard  about ;  shake  hands  with  him.'  I  tim- 
idly extended  my  hand,  and  the  great  man 
not  only  grasped  it  with  a  cordial  grasp,  but, 
patting  me  on  the  head  with  his  other  hand, 
said,  '  My  young  friend,  thee  has  chosen  a 
noble  calling.'  " 

Mr.  Whittier,  in  speaking  of  Longfellow's 
works  a  few  years  ago,  said,  "  '  Evangeline  '  is 
a  favorite  with  me.  I  think  it  is  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  poems.  Longfellow  had 
an  easy  life  and  superior  advantages  of  asso- 
ciation and  education,  and  so  did  Emerson. 
It  was  widely  different  with  me,  and  I  am 
very  thankful  for  the  kind  esteem  that  people 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL. 


363 


have  given  my  writings.  Before  '  Evange- 
line '  was  written  I  had  hunted  up  the  history 
of  the  banishment  of  the  Acadians,  and  had 
intended  to  write  upon  it  myself,  but  I  put  it 
off,  and  Hawthorne  got  hold  of  the  story  and 
gave  it  to  Longfellow.  I  am  very  glad  he 
did,  for  he  was  just  the  one  to  write  it.  If  I 
had  attempted  it  I  should  have  spoiled  the 
artistic  effect  of  the  poem  by  my  indignation 
at  the  treatment  of  the  exiles  by  the  Colonial 
Government,  who  had  a  very  hard  lot  after 
coming  to  this  country.  Families  were  sep- 
arated and  scattered  about,  only  a  few  of 
them  being  permitted  to  remain  in  any 
given  locality.  The  children  were  bound 
out  to  the  families  in  the  localities  in  which 
they  resided,  and  I  wrote  a  poem  upon  find- 
ing in  the  records  of  Haverhill  the  indenture 
that  bound  an  Acadian  girl  as  a  servant  in 
one  of  the  families  in  that  neighborhood. 
Gathering  the  story  of  her  death,  I  wrote 
'  Marguerite.'  " 

In  addition  to  what  has  been  stated  in 
this  volume  and  elsewhere  by  me  on  the 
Barbara  Frietchie  ballad,  are  to  be  finally 
appended  a  few  words,  suggested  by  the  one 
who  sent  the  raw  material  of  the  ballad  to 


364  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

Whittier,  namely,  Mrs.  E.  D.  E.  N.  South- 
worth,  who,  soon  after  the  poet's  death,  at 
her  pretty  home  in  Georgetown,  D.  C., 
recalled  the  circumstances  as  they  occurred 
back  in  1863.  It  seems  that  the  story  was 
told  her  by  a  neighbor  of  hers  who  was  also 
a  relative  of  Barbara  —  Mr.  C.  S.  Rams- 
burg.  Mrs.  Southworth's  son,  who  was 
present,  remarked,  "  What  a  grand  subject 
for  a  poem  by  Whittier,  mother!  " 

She  thereupon  sat  down,  and  with  tears 
in  her  eyes,  wrote  the  incident  out  and  sent 
it  to  Amesbury.  Mr.  Whittier  replied  as 
follows :  — 

"  AMESBURY,  9mo.  8,  1863. 

"  MY  DEAR  MRS.  SOUTHWORTH: — I  heartily 
thank  thee  for  thy  very  kind  letter  and  its 
inclosed  "  message."  It  ought  to  have 
fallen  into  better  hands,  but  I  have  just 
written  out  a  little  ballad  of  "  Barbara  Frie- 
tchie,"  which  will  appear  in  the  next  Atlantic. 
If  it  is  good  for  anything  thee  deserves  all 
the  credit  of  it. 

"  With  best  wishes  for  thy  health  and  hap- 
piness,  I  am  most  truly  thy  friend, 

"  JOHN  G.  WHITTIER." 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  365 

It  is  said  that  Mr.  Whittier  expressed  re- 
gret for  having  made  a  bonfire  of  nearly  all 
the  letters  he  had  received  from  his  corres- 
pondents for  over  half  a  century.  It  is  to 
be  hoped  that  his  literary  executor  will  be 
liberals-minded  in  allowing  the  publication  of 
the  most  interesting  of  Whittier's  own  letters, 
for  he  put  a  good  bit  of  his  sister  Elizabeth's 
wit  and  vivacity  into  his  letters ;  and  scarcely 
a  day  passed  that  one  or  more  of  these  was 
not  written,  overflowing  with  kindly  words 
and  good  humor,  though  these,  it  is  true, 
could  give  no  hint  of  that  lambent  gleam  of 
the  marvelous  eyes,  nor  of  that  sudden  com- 
pression of  the  upper  lip  with  which  he 
repressed  a  smile  when  he  had  flashed  out  a 
bit  of  humor. 

Whittier  was  not  only  quick  in  repartee, 
but  quick  and  lithe  in  all  his  movements, 
and  quick  in  his  mental  processes.  His 
friend,  Judge  G.  W.  Gate,  says  he  latterly 
read  books  very  rapidly  by  inspection, 
turning  the  leaves  and  seizing  the  con- 
tents by  intuition.  The  poet's  imagina- 
tion, continues  Judge  Gate,  was  wonderful. 
Years  ago  he  may  have  read  an  accurate 
description  of  some  remote  place  —  Malta, 


366  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

Jerusalem,  or  some  smaller  town  in  the  far 
East.  He  would  then  converse  at  any  time 
as  readily  about  such  a  place  as  if  he  had 
been  there.  It  was  this  vivid  remembrance 
of  places,  Whittier  himself  said,  which  made 
him  not  care  so  much  to  visit  them  in  per- 
son. He  was  never  a  traveler,  not  having 
been  farther  from  home  than  Philadelphia 
(half  a  century  ago),  and  Washington  some- 
what later.  He  said  that  he  should  like  to 
be  in  California  or  Florida  for  a  winter,  but 
the  getting  there  appalled  him,  and  so  he 
sat  contentedly  in  his.  Northern  study,  with 
its  bright  open  fire,  finding  in  its  crumbling 
embers  a  compensatory  dream  of  the  Mor- 
genland  with  its  palms,  mirages  and  luxuriant 
blossomry.  He  followed  with  deep  interest 
the  toils  and  adventures  of  his  friend  Greely 
in  the  arctic  regions,  and  rejoiced  with  all 
his  neighbors  when  word  came  of  his  rescue. 
And  at  another  time  he  said  he  "  would 
rather  shake  hands  with  Stanley  than  with 
any  other  man  in  the  world  just  then." 

The  sincerest  mourners  at  Whittier's 
funeral  were  women.  One  of  the  peculiari- 
ties of  his  life  was  the  devotion  and  loving 
care  given  to  him  by  noble  women  —  sisters, 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL. 


367 


mother,  nieces,  cousins  and  such  poet  friends 
as  Lucy  Larcom,  Mrs.  Spofford,  Rose  Terry 
Cooke,  Sarah  Orne  Jewett,  Celia  Thaxter, 
Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps  and  Mrs.  Annie 
Fields.  He  was  always  an  ardent  defender 
of  woman  suffrage,  and  such  advocates  of 
that  noble  cause  as  Adelaide  A.  Claflin 
publicly  expressed  their  sorrow  on  the  death 
of  their  coadjutor  and  friend. 

He  was  not  only  liberal  in  politics,  but 
also  in  religion,  and  while  remaining  from 
choice  in  the  creedless  church  of  his  fathers, 
yet  he  had  sympathies  that  allied  him  with  the 
broad  humanitarian  movements  of  the  times 
in  religion.  There  was  no  shred  of  bigotry 
in  his  nature.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  perse- 
cuting Quaker?  It  is  they  who  have  always 
patiently  suffered  persecution.  Whittier, 
indeed,  belonged  with  the  advance  guard  of 
the  Friends,  in  spirit  at  least,  and  he  said  in  a 
letter  written  shortly  before  his  death,  "  For 
years  I  have  been  desirous  of  a  movement 
for  uniting  all  Christians,  with  no  other 
creed  or  pledge  than  a  simple  recognition  of 
Christ  as  our  leader." 

The  Whittier  Club  of  Haverhill,  an  organi- 


368  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

zation  the  poet  had  thoroughly  enjoyed,  not 
only  because  it  represented  the  feeling  of 
his  native  town  toward  him,  but  also  from 
the  constant  attentions  paid  him  by  it,  held 
a  memorial  service  in  Haverhill,  October  7. 
It  was  a  rare  day  of  tribute  and  thanksgiv- 
ing, and  all  who  participated  in  it  felt  grate- 
ful for  the  honor  allowed  them.  It  was  just 
a  month  from  the  day  when  the  loved  poet 
and  former  citizen  passed  from  earth.  Mr. 
George  E.  Elliott,  the  owner  of  Whittier's 
birthplace,  very  generously  allowed  the  club 
to  hold  its  meeting  in  the  old  homestead, 
and  he  furthered  in  every  way  their  well- 
conceived  plan  by  which  the  several  rooms 
presented  an  appearance  as  near  as  possible 
to  that  of  the  poet's  boyhood.  The  parti- 
tion in  the  old  kitchen,  that  had  been  put  up 
of  late  years,  was  taken  down,  disclosing  the 
array  of  ancient  cupboards  and  queer  little 
window ;  there  was  the  kettle  hanging  on  the 
crane  in  the  wide  fireplace,  along  whose 
hearth  one  almost  expected  to  see  "  the 
apples  sputtering  in  a  row,"  as  of  yore. 
There  were  the  iron  fire-dogs  and  the  an- 
tiquated chairs,  the  wainscoting  untouched 
by  the  hand  of  Time,  save  to  grow  mellower 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL. 


369 


of  tint,  and  there  was  "the  sagging  beam," 
the  uneven  floor  and  the  quaint  staircase, 
all  just  as  Whittier,  the  boy,  saw  and  touched 
and  lived  amongst,  all  those  impressible  years 
of  his  life. 

It  was  a  notable  company  gathered  in 
that  old  homestead  that  beautiful  October 
day  —  bidden  there  by  the  Whittier  Club  — 
not  large  in  numbers,  as  the  invitations  were 
of  necessity  limited  to  the  capacity  of  the 
old  homestead.  But  they  were  mostly  the 
poet's  dear  friends  who  came  to  do  honor  to 
his  'name.  There  was  Lucy  Larcom,  Wil- 
liam Lloyd  Garrison,  Jr.,  Mrs.  Ednah  D. 
Cheney  and  "Margaret  Sidney"  (Mrs.  D. 
Lothrop);  there  was  Charles  Carleton  Coffin 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frank  Garrison  and  Miss 
Sparhawk,  whose  father,  Dr.  Thomas  Spar- 
hawk  of  Amesbury,  was  one  of  the  poet's  life- 
long friends.  There  was  the  dear  Quaker 
presence  of  Mrs.  Purington,  Mr.  Whittier's 
cousin,  and  the  members  of  his  family  at 
Oak  Knoll,  Mrs.  Woodman,  her  daughter, 
Miss  Phebe,  and  the  Misses  Johnson;  there 
was  Mr.  S.  T.  Pickard  of  Portland,  Maine, 
who  married  the  poet's  niece  Lizzie,  and 
who  is  Mr.  Whittier's  literary  executor, 


370  JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

And  there  were  other  relatives  and  friends 
and  Haverhill  citizens  thronging  the  house, 
and  listening  outside  the  little  many-paned 
windows  to  catch  the  echoes  of  the  words 
being  uttered  within. 

The  day  was  all  that  one  could  desire 
who  looked  for  sympathy  in  Nature  toward 
this  her  favorite  child  who  has  so  interpreted 
her  woods  and  fields,  her  autumn  skies  and 
the  trembling  line  of  river  and  coast.  The 
old  kitchen  was  filled  with  chairs,  and  on 
them,  and  crowded  in  the  doorways  and  peep- 
ing in  the  windows,  were  the  interested  and 
reverent  listeners.  Mr.  Charles  Howe,  the 
president  of  the  club,  presided  with  great 
grace  and  dignity;  with  rare  tact  culling 
from  the  large  amount  of  what  waited  to  be 
read  and  said,  just  such  choice  extracts  and 
bits  of  reminiscence  as  would  best  serve  the 
purpose  of  the  hour.  Selections  from  "  Snow- 
Bound  "  were  read  by  a  member  of  the  club 
in  that  room  where  "  Snow-Bound  "  was 
lived,  if  one  may  so  express  it.  And  to  the 
listeners  there  came  a  vision  of  \vintry  fields 
and  whirling  storm  ;  of  the  little  knot  of 
friends  drawn  close  to  the  friendly  comfort- 
ing fire  on  the  hearth ;  in  the  midst  the 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  371 

thoughtful  sensitive  boy  who  was  to  awaken 
the  love  and  veneration  of  future  genera- 
tions all  over  his  country. 

There  were  reminiscences  of  a  visit  to  his 
birthplace  paid  by  the  poet  some  ten  years 
since  with  Mr.  S.  T.  Pickard,  who  told 
to  the  assembled  company  many  amusing 
stories  related  by  Mr.  Whittier  on  that 
occasion.  There  was  the  quaint  staircase 
down  which  the  poet,  when  a  baby,  wrapped 
in  a  blanket,  was  rolled  by  his  sister  only 
two  years  older,  who  probably  thought  it 
the  greatest  kindness  in  the  world  to  thus 
project  her  infant  brother  into  space.  There 
was  the  queer  old  cupboard  where  Mr.  Whit- 
tier  when  a  boy  was  dragged  by  his  jacket 
collar  by  a  tramp  who  had  forcibly  entered 
the  house;  and  there  he  was  compelled  to 
stand  while  the  unwelcome  visitor  searched 
high  and  low  for  any  chance  jug  or  bottle 
that  would  yield  another  supply  to  his 
already  over-weighted  condition.  Seizing  a 
jug  from  a  dark  corner,  he  ejected  the  cork 
without  a  glance  at  the  contents,  and  took 
a  long  deep  draught  of  whale  oil  used  for 
filling  lamps.  The  embryo  poet  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  confused  spluttering  that 


372  JOHN  GREENLEAF   WHITTIER. 

ensued,  to  make  good  his  escape.  Mr.  Will 
Carleton  recited  with  dramatic  vigor  "  Bar- 
bara Frietchie,"  till  the  walls  and  rafters 
rang.  Lucy  Larcom  read  from  the  poet's 
writings,  and  Mr.  William  Lloyd  Garrison,  Jr. 
recited  an  original  poem.  A  young  English 
lady,  who  was  visiting  friends  of  Mr.  Whit- 
tier's,  read  by  request  Tennyson's  "  Crossing 
the  Bar,"  the  Poet  Laureate's  death  having 
just  occurred. 

There  were  reminiscences  by  Dr.  Fiske 
of  Newburyport,  who  told  several  charac- 
teristic stories  connected  with  Joshua  Coffin, 
the  "  Yankee  Schoolmaster,"  and  life-long 
friend  of  the  poet;  and  Charles  Carleton 
Coffin,  the  historian,  gave  the  account  of  his 
capture  of  the  big  key  of  the  last  slave  prison 
in  Richmond,  and  of  his  giving  it  to  Mr.  Whit- 
tier  who  returned  it  to  him  a  year  or  so  ago. 
At  the  close  of  his  remarks,  Mr.  Carleton 
hung  the  key  on  the  nail  above  the  fireplace 
where,  in  Whittier's  boyhood,  the  big  bull's- 
eye  watch  used  to  hang.  Fitting  place  was 
it  for  the  silent  symbol  of  agony  and  shame 
to  the  slave  brother ;  and  all  who  witnessed 
it  hanging  there,  felt  the  heart  beat  to  a 
newer  and  a  keener  sense  of  the  debt  we 


TWILIGHT  AND  EVENING  BELL.  373 

owe  to  him  whose  songs  (as  one  who  gave  a 
reminiscence  that  day  told  us)  influenced 
Abraham  Lincoln  to  project  the  Emancipa- 
tion Proclamation  upon  the  American  people. 
The  beautiful  poem  of  Mr.  Whittier's,  "  My 
Psalm,"  was  rendered  with  deep  feeling  by 
Mrs.  Julia  Houston  West  for  whom,  several 
years  ago,  the  verses  had  been  set  to  music. 
And  to  bring  to  a  fitting  close  these  memorial 
exercises,  the  assembled  company  of  relatives 
and  friends  rose  and  sang  one  stanza  of 
of  "  Auld  Lang  Syne." 


^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  AT  UOS  ANGELES 

THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  "below 


APR  2  0  1942 


24  is,. 


OCC  2  8  1951 
1 


MAR  17 198 


HEC'DLD-OR 

4  WK  APR  01 
MAY  2  2 1997 


1997 


• 


> 


